I can't remember what the placemats on my kitchen table used to look like,
Or why you hated the word "cauliflower" so much.
I can't recall the arrangement of your irises,
Or which side of me you thought was brighter.
I don't know what your voice sounded like anymore,
Or why the things I want to care about are the things that everyone else keeps telling me don't matter.
But I won't ever lose the way the pitch of your voice rose when I upset you,
but never the volume,
Like a wave fighting too desperately
Against an all too familiar current.