it's funny—

dying so many times

for someone that forgot your name

last year.

i like to think that you’ll recognize,

my laugh,

my smell,

my heart.

but your eyes evade my memory, and

your smile is lost to history.

the shade of your hair?

i could give a dang about the shade of your hair.

i merely crave your arms wrapped around my torso, saying

“i know you. i know this girl.

i know her.”

your name is a prayer to me,

you, you, you–

in my dreams,

in the air passed between me and my cold pillow,

in the lip gloss i wore around you only.

in the scent of the sea,

and the funny, purple rug around our feet.

so, in the space separating my heart from yours,

a centimeter

or oceans apart,

remember this girl.