It seems we never remember the most important things — or
maybe it just seems that they are the most important only because we don’t
remember them. If we did remember them, it would be some other forgotten thing
that became more important.
I don’t remember all the conversations we had, and I don’t
remember all the times you made me laugh. I don’t remember how your breath felt
in my ear, or if you even ever breathed in my ear, although it’s a safe
assumption you probably did.
I remember the way you smiled at me. I remember the sound of your heartbeat. I remember the weight of all the words I swallowed, later on.
I remember falling into your quiet comfort and imagining
your arms were quarter moons, waning and waxing around me, holding me together.
Perhaps that’s enough.
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