Sometimes, I think you forgot me.
To admit it, most days I've forgotten you, too. But sometimes a moment comes along that feels like you in my bones, and suddenly you're crashing through my veins, riding my pulse straight to my heart. And you sit in my chest, heavy and unwelcome, and it's hard to breathe because I cannot shut off the reel of memories playing in my head. So I close my eyes and count to ten, breathe evenly and steadily, tell myself that you are miles and years away. But I wake up the next morning with a dry taste in my mouth and a hollowness somewhere in the pit of my stomach and you're hanging onto me like a shadow even though it's already high noon.
You are a seasonal affliction. During the winter you are buried with the sunlight, but the moment the heat rises and the days lengthen, I can feel you. Last Tuesdays I drove for no reason with the windows down, the scent of fresh rain on hot pavement and shaved grass slapping my face, and it smelled like the curve of your collarbones. Tonight, the twilight tasted like your breath, so I refused to sleep and stayed out on my porch, watching the stars and dreaming about running off to the beach so I can remember the night we sat on the rocky Mediterranean shoreline and found Orion's belt. I looked to the heavens and fought the urge to dive into the water, letting it stain my lips so I can remember the salty taste to your kiss the day you wrapped your legs around me in the sea, and whispered fiercely that you loved me no matter what anyone said.
It's amazing how things never go to plan. I spent our last night shaking in your arms, a fever boiling in my brain, apologizing for missing the sun hurdle over the horizon. You bit your lip at me and cried when you told me you'd miss me. When you said you were afraid you'd never see me again. I closed my eyes and laid my head on your thighs while I planned out our future in the form of a story, one that left you shaking with me, the echoes of "I promise, I promise" surrounding us in the hallway until we were convinced we could never feel alone. But I am no prophet, or I would have chased you down the stairs when you finally wrenched yourself from me. I never would have let you go if I knew you'd be right and we'd both be heartbroken.
Sometimes, I remember you. Sometimes I feel foolish for thinking about us. But in that brief moment, I reach out for you and wonder what it would be like to smell you on my skin again, to feel your head on my chest, to watch the smile on your face as I pull you into an alley and kiss your jawline as you breathlessly tell me that this was meant to happen. I think you forgot me, but I'm thinking about us and the simultaneous flutters of our hearts, and I'm going to sleep wishing with all my heart to wake up to sweaty skin on thin bedsheets, and the sight of your face illuminated by the sunrise. Sometimes, I think you forgot me, but I'd give it all up just to hear you say good morning.