Your phone number - long deleted - started with a 3. Or was it a 6? Maybe 2. The only thing I'm sure of is it had seven digits and made my heart race when I saw it on my phone.
Your smell and how it lingered now escapes me. It was unique and spicy. Or was it sweet? I keep thinking I've found it again but end up second guessing myself. If my eyes were closed and you were standing right in front of me, I wouldn't even know.
Your smile I can't quite picture. I don't think you showed your teeth unless you were really happy or laughing. But even in those cases, I don't remember what that looked like. You probably had perfect teeth.
The dates of all the events whose memories used to stop my heart are fading. When I stop to think, I can remember them, but when those days pass I'm always preoccupied and forget to remember.
Your favorite color was black, I'm sure. I remember because Your car was black. Your hair was black. The locked compartment of your heart that I tried to open for two long, painful years was black.