For 1,467 days I've thought of nothing else but the crooked smile that you own,
The way you hide it when you realize someone might see you too happy.
I've thought of the fast pace of your stride even when you have no end destination
and how your eyebrows arch in such a defined way.
I remember the mole you have on the back of your shoulder,
hidden from view of everyone you do not undress in front of.
I remember the intensity of our passion,
and I find a great deal of sorrow and irony while I think back on how many of those days you spent thinking of other girls.