You've forgotten what love was like in the same moment you couldn't quite remember what my perfume smelled like or how I said your name in my sleep. You knew it then--that you had misplaced the feeling of love in that girl from your astronomy class when you kissed her under the stars but could only remember holding my shaking body under the dim lights of the milky way when you knew you should have focused on the way her lips tasted. How did her lips taste, by the way? I have been meaning to ask. Did they taste like strawberry or blood? Did they taste like mine did that night in your bedroom when you swore you'd love me until the day you die? Or did they taste like broken promises and whatever drink she took a shot of last? Either way, you know you should be able to remember the way her hand felt in yours but you feel so guilty because you can only remember how we laughed at our clammy palms. I know you hope she doesn't get too upset when you're unable to keep your stories straight.