i don't remember the second name of the girl i first loved.
nor do i remember the colour of her eyes.
i don't remember what it was that made me fall so hard for her,
or what her first words were to me.
i don't remember how she smells or what brand of cigarettes she smoked or how her hair felt beneath my fingertips.
or how her lips tasted in the morning
or what we spent long nights arguing about.
i don't remember these things when i'm surrounded by newer, better people; or when i'm drinking coffee on a Sunday mornings.

but ever so often the world goes quiet and the newer people disappear into the outside world and i remember it all.
i wish i didn't, but i do.