But I remember, you said…
dust bunnies and discarded thought
somewhere in there you found us waiting,
white-knuckled fingers crossed kind of waiting
the kind where unfurled hands ached at the movement
and the perception of it pained us more.
Funny looking and awkward
crumpled paper balls of memory with faded scrawl
like there had been a when but you couldn’t recall,
just like the knots in your hair you furiously brushed at it
hacked at it
scowled at it for not being the beautiful you had wanted
and all I could do was think how I loved the knots
would miss them when they were gone.
You took hold of the tattered memories
all wide-eyed and expectant
looking to me waiting for praise in your findings
and completely ignoring the fact there was nothing left
but the vaguest of imprints of a was we once were,
the importance of the remembering is forgetting,
and for reasons best left out of this, I’d rather not think of it.