There are moments when I don't think of you.
When I don't remember.
I am blissfully whisked along in the swirling eddies of forgetful fog.

Always when the fog clears, you are there.
Rather, you are not there and I remember.

I remember the way a silhouette remembers— the outline of the place you once were stands stark against the background that is.
I blend into the background and you pop as a silhouette.
Your figure cuts me, sharper than knives and deeper than the despair I feel at having lost you.
Can you lose something if you know where it is?

I spend so many moments thinking of where we used to be and remembering where we are now.