Dec 2014
and i'm beginning to forget you
like the way a mattress loses the imprint of its sleeper after a while when you can't sleep there anymore because it becomes too uncomfortable
like the way a computer shortens its history when you don't use it for a while
because you just can't get up off the floor to do something
like the way an 90 year old woman forgets her husbands name and then her own after years of hearing those two names over and over
like the way the brain makes room for different, better memories and moments
following a few months that were kind of drab and uneventful
and i hope that after a few more months then i won't even remember your face or how your laugh sounded when you didn't hide it and the perfect way your chest rose and fell after every single breath you took or the flowing rhythm your fingers kept when they raced across your piano keyboard. i'll forget the way you look at her and instead of me.
like the way a mattress loses the imprint of its sleeper after a while when you can't sleep there anymore because it becomes too uncomfortable
like the way a computer shortens its history when you don't use it for a while
because you just can't get up off the floor to do something
like the way an 90 year old woman forgets her husbands name and then her own after years of hearing those two names over and over
like the way the brain makes room for different, better memories and moments
following a few months that were kind of drab and uneventful
and i hope that after a few more months then i won't even remember your face or how your laugh sounded when you didn't hide it and the perfect way your chest rose and fell after every single breath you took or the flowing rhythm your fingers kept when they raced across your piano keyboard. i'll forget the way you look at her and instead of me.
