who you are will become a memory,

who you become will be a stranger.

and that’s the weirdest part

about falling out of love with someone,

who has memorized the back of your hands

and the smell of your hair

and the sound of your laugh.

you and I will become

an entirely different bundle of cells

made new by our experiences

and our constant change of perspective

this is my hope

this immense sense of vulnerability I feel

is fading, with every new day

you don’t know me anymore

so don’t you dare claim that

because who I was is a memory,

and who I am is a stranger.