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Jun 2013
Why would he remember?
The times we kissed
And he held me
Inside his arms.

And I was young and lovely then,
Last year.
And I was loved and lively then.
And he was mine and I was his.

I was his lovely, breathtaking, ravishing creature.

Why would he remember?

Why would he look back and sigh at times when I
Discreetly shut my eyes
And fell asleep.
And he would watch me in his lap and feel somewhat mesmerized.

Tell me
The color of my eyes.

Did he forget my eyes?

The very ones he said he'd fight for,
Live for,
Die for.
They're still the same old eyes.

What color are her eyes?

And did he forget my smile?
I forgot my smile.
I left back in your room on your bed or in your car on the backseat or in the window seat where we watched the rain.
Or maybe it got twisted up in your curls,
Or between the sheets where we'd spend days
And nights,
Or maybe on the flight of stairs --
The ones you sat me down on and we said words and you
Stopped
Remembering me.

Maybe you'll find it there.

Though it could be anywhere.

And frankly
I want to forget
Too.
Paranoia: constantly anticipating exactly this.

It's the least lovely, silliest, most unreasonable thing to live with.
Rosemarie Caruso
Written by
Rosemarie Caruso  Oregon
(Oregon)   
713
   Muggle Ginger and ---
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