I wish I forgot how to cry.

I forgot the way your body ached
After a long day.

I forgot the color of your favorite shirt.

I forgot the photographs you took
With your tongue sticking out at me.

I forgot how easily the drugs
Took over our lives.

I forgot the scent of your hair,
Littered on our bathroom floor.

I forgot your scars
And the stories behind them.

I forgot the needles
And the ghosts you wanted to forget.

I forgot how you'd sing to me off key
While strumming your acoustic.
And the way your basement gave me the creeps.

I forgot just how loud you screamed
When they called my name at graduation,
With your fist in the air
And how I was almost embarrassed by you
Almost.

I forgot how easily you made me laugh
And how difficult it was to let you go

I forgot.

I sat next to your headstone
With my face pressed against your name
Forgetting how to say goodbye.

And I wish I forgot how to cry.