I use to collect these memories obsessively.
Each note was dated. Each handwriting was labeled with names. Each doodle was an immaculate story. Boxes and smalls tins fill with moments forgotten by you, but living within me.
I'd write to you and recount each word on paper.
They were my quiet confessions, only mine.
But I wanted to give them to you.
I wanted to make your chest tremor,
move the waves in your smile,
ease the swells of your shoulders,
hold your heart gently,
and hush it to a soft sleep.
I wanted to be enough for you.
I wanted you to feel wanted.
So I stamped and addressed you my words.
But I don't think you held them close to you.
So I've tried forgetting the things I write,
because I'll never have the courage to ask for it back.
I told myself not to think of this anymore,
but I need to ask anyways.
Though paper yellows
Though notes get lost
Though pages rip
Though handwriting fades
Though nothing stays forever
Will you remember me?
