You used to call me Tinkerbell
Or maybe you called my older sister that,
I don’t remember
I do remember a purple sweater with Tinkerbell on it
I remember the matching blanket folded up in a bin somewhere
I didn’t take it with me
I remember the Tinkerbell windup Christmas ornament that sits in a box for eleven months a year

Memory is funny thing
It hurts, sometimes, to remember
It hurts because we’re growing up and moving on
Ir hurts because we leave blankets folded up in bins
But it hurts so much worse to forget
It hurts to argue over who was Tinkerbell
It hurts to forget her sitting in a box until December

When I wrote you a letter, because you can’t use your computer anymore
When I thought about every single word being as clear as humanly possible
When I thought about every flick of my handwriting and every possible way to make it easier to read
I still almost forgot to write love before my name instead of the dash I haphazardly throw in front of my name

So as you forget all of the insignificant details
As the plaques takeover like plagues and everything fades
As the nuance is lost with the fine motor skills
I hope to God you don’t forget that I love you.