In my mind, I'm putting all the things that remind me of you in a box to leave in the back shelf of my unconscious until these things have changed from objects of dispair, to ones I can look back on and smile about rather than frown - maybe not now, but somewhere, sometime, somehow hopefully soon:

a box of Cheerios because they were your favourite,

Colgate toothpaste because that's what you tasted like,

the notes you left in my locker when you used to pass by every morning,

a cantaloupe because "soft fruits help you kiss better,"

almonds, and nuts in general, because you always talked about bulking diets and were a little nuts to be honest,

a pair of Sperry's because you wore them with everything,

a movie ticket because that was our first "date," and you worked at the local theatre,

a hockey stick because you loved the sport with all your heart,

a CD with a single track on it: Let Her Go by Passenger because you told me that was your favourite song and I hope it's the one you listen to when thinking about me,

and last but certainly not least,
a vile of the scent you wore every single day that I could never manage to decipher even up to now.

- g.d.

This midnight darkness has cast shadows over my thoughts and rain clouds over my heart. And I think the saddest moment of our lives arise when we come to realize and understand our forgetfulness.

i.
I don't remember how it feels to have the wind blow against my face as I race my way around fences and bushes just to get a "tag." I forgot the vivid rhythm needed to create the perfect snow angel on a winter's afternoon, or the taste of snowflakes on the tip of my tongue. I cannot recall the smell of chocolate cakes my mother used to bake in our old kitchen, nor reaching up for a slice with my seemingly short hair and small hands. Neither do I remember how it sounded when I used to race down the stairs on Christmas Day looking for Santa's treasures. As well as the bittersweet excitement whenever I lost a tooth. Not even the fresh smell of rain for I feel as if I've been stuck in the drought of my mind for the longest time. All of these things are things I used to love; used to look forward to, and now they've lost their fireworks and have only remained in my life as dying embers within the midst of time and fate. I've seemed to outgrow these memories as if they were light-up sneakers and childhood overalls. And that's what I'm scared of: somehow I've come to lose everything about me, becoming replaced with this new socially acceptable person. But how much pure emotion does this hold now that I've grown? Is this overpriced down-feathered pillow truly as comforting as the eight stuffed animals that once kept me company?

Everybody just seems to get tired of everything so they replace their miscellaneous junk, replace their belongings, their clothes, their friends - themselves. How have we become so detached from the things we've seemed to love with all our hearts? And this question always leads me back to you.

ii.
You weren't the smell of chocolate cake, or the taste of snowflakes. You weren't the feel of wind or the sound of Christmas - but you were close. Oh boy, were you close. But now it seems so hard to keep this shelf in my mind empty just for you when I know you do not belong there anymore. But I can't bear to think that you will become irrelevant to me for the years to come. One day, I will see you again and you'll look similar, smell similar, probably feel similar but I know just like every other ephemeral thing, you will be different from what you are now. And I don't know if, at that moment, my heart will crumble under the realization of our burned memories, or if I will go on numbly as if they never existed. Maybe, someone will even catch me looking your way and she'll ask if I ever knew you because me gaze seemed to imply to. Then I'll file through the memory cabinets in my mind trying to recall the feel of your lips
and the touch of your hand
and the light in your eyes
and smirk in your smile
and the swing in your step
and the sting in your voice
and the weight of your affection.... but nothing will be recalled. I will watch our black and white silent story play through my head, follow your stride as you walk away from my sight like the very last time I saw you, and I will long for some soft of feeling, similar to the mountain I possess now, but I'm afraid none of this will be remembered. I will stare numbly down your path, maybe even fake a smile, turn my attention back to her question and only have the heart to say

"I used to."

- g.d.

How troublesome it is trying to forget you.
Every twist, turn and shift
leads right back to your eyes,
which never seem to be looking back at mine.

I'm stuck in this pool of quicksand
filled to the rim with memories of seeing you,
feeling you, hearing you,
loving you.

In my head - like a flash of lighting or
Halley's Comet -
I beg and plead for a wish,
any wish in the moment to

guide me away
from the tormenting vivid doubts of my own mind
and lead me back into your arms.
But it never ends up that way;

what a troublesome act it is trying to forget you
when all I can see,
feel,
and hear

triggers the inner depths of my emotions;
the shallowness of my breaths;
my liquid stained eyes similar
to the stains of red and purple you once left on my neck,

and my gleaming pearly whites I flash for the cameras
who know nothing but my face -
contrary to the knowledge I have of you touch,
your stride, your lips on mine,
your scent hypnotic in such a troublesome way.

It truly is such a troublesome act trying to forget you,
when everything I've been left with
is sewn and threaded with reminders to
always remember.

- g.d.

I watched you fall out of love.
Slowly, then gradually,
then all at once.
Only now am I realizing it;
everything about you drifted
into a space I could no longer reach.

I watched as your eyes changed with the seasons -
your vibrant summer glance
turned cold and gloomy with the autumn breeze.
Your hands, once warm and tight,
loosened with your smile.
It was no longer firm and gleaming,
but rather forced in a dead straight line
laced with words so harsh they mimicked the sharpness of
ice.

And your laugh,
oh that laugh,
no longer echoed in my mind with such simplicity;
never was it once again renewed or reheard,
just replayed over
and over
and over
before it faded backwards through my ears,
past my skull,
to the hairs on my neck
which no longer showed any signs of your lips.

Sincere sighs of wonder
became solid sighs of impatience.
Slowly, but surely,
your tired brown eyes and the heaviness of your stride,
said everything you didn't have to say.
Slowly, but surely,
your stare became dull
and your embrace no longer wrapped me with comfort.
Slowly, but surely,
your lips no longer tasted of fresh mint love,
that I memorized oh so well.

There was always too much on the line,
and even though I tried
to grab
and reach
and hold onto something,
I always came up empty
like the void in my chest that grew
every single time
I watched you fall out of love
with me.

- g.d.