Mar 2018
His memories are beginning to get weaker
His face is becoming a faint memory
I’ve almost forgotten how he smiles
And the depth of those emerald eyes
I’ve forgotten how he held me tight in fear of losing me
How his lips felt on mine
I forgot how he looked after me
Or stayed up, waiting for me all night
I’ve forgotten how his perfume felt on me
After we’d made love
The cologne that I’d let linger for a little longer
Just so, in case I missed him
But,
most of all,
I forgot
I forgot,
How well I lied
His face is becoming a faint memory
I’ve almost forgotten how he smiles
And the depth of those emerald eyes
I’ve forgotten how he held me tight in fear of losing me
How his lips felt on mine
I forgot how he looked after me
Or stayed up, waiting for me all night
I’ve forgotten how his perfume felt on me
After we’d made love
The cologne that I’d let linger for a little longer
Just so, in case I missed him
But,
most of all,
I forgot
I forgot,
How well I lied
it's been a while since he left, and his memories are beginning to fade. I try to remember what he felt like, I try to bring back our memories; only to realize he hasn't ever left me. That's the worst part about dating a writer, isn't it? They don't just forget you. Instead, you become a part of their poetry!
