They say some memories last forever,
if not in thoughts then in our fingers.
Like how your hands brushed past my skin,
and every time I wished they'd linger.

Every night we spent up late
taking drives up to the lake,
now stays buried in my head
along with words I never said.

Our hearts were silently exposed
like cooling hands on hardwood tables.
And your fingers traced the outlines
of all the faded, peeling labels.

I still see the ring stained outline
of where your coffee was left last.
I seem to wonder if it keeps
all the sorrow from our past.