I can still remember the way my name rolls off your lips like a sweet songbird in the morning.
I can still hear the way you call for me across the house, repeating, just once.
I can still feel the cool cool breeze that engulfed your bedroom, while we slept close, but apart.
I can remember leaving, in a rush, as to not miss my plans I made, without you.
.
.
.
I can't remember your smell, on all the clothes I used to have, and on my body after we made love all day.
I can't remember what you last said to me as I left down the empty, shaded stairwell.
I can't remember the last kiss we shared--it wasn't special, but it was the last.
I can't remember when I lost you, both seeing the same world, apart.

If I could, I would probably try to forget anyway.