forgetful girl.

i forget to forget the way
your hair smells and
your eyes shine and
your hand feels in mine.
i forget to forget the way
your skin tastes and
your mouth tastes and
your words taste as
they dissolve in my spirit.

i forget to forget the way your
chest rises and falls
our words exchanged
finding their way into
the pockets of our souls to
bloom in some other
unexpected moment.

i forget to forget…

but i forget to remember this
wrenching in my chest
when you love me and
leave me to fade,
to wither,
to thirst for you with no relief.

i forget to forget
the happy ding-ding of
love notes sent to my soul, your
your gaze in my direction, and instead
remember the disappointing weight of
sadness as the silence then
stretches out and
stretches out (and
stretches out).

i forget to remember the tears and the loss
my heart that you toss
over your shoulder and
onto the curb
i forget to remember the break and the burn
and why I should have learned
to forget your blue eyes and
your look-away smile
to forget your still strength and
your fears reconciled
to forget the time that you
said I was the best thing that
ever happened to you
that I was worthy of your time and
your attention, and
your affection.

to forget the mirage of
what seemed to true
forget the belief in the
man that i knew
rhymed words and spilled ink are
worth nothing, it seems, if
the only gestures of love
come in hashtags and links
this time i must try to
remember to forget this imaginary love, and
instead remember to
remember the way
this always turns out for me.

alone
alone
alone
alone.
​
alone, and reading spilled thoughts of
someone i (maybe) knew
and the (almost) love that
you (perhaps) dreamed
of you and me
and the magic that
never
came
to
be.