Trying to Remember

You always ask me if I remember the sound of your heart, but I can't remember the sound because our hearts beat as one with each other. You are the beat of my heart and I the beat of yours. It's like footsteps. Bump. Bump. Bump. Bump. One right after another in the march that is our love.

You always ask if I remember your eyes. I can never forget your eyes, but I sometimes don't want to remember them. The first time you looked at me it was like nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered. I never wanted you to look away. But you did. You always do. I can never forget how your eyes swept my whole world aside then left me to myself, but everyday I wish I couldn't remember.

You always ask if I remember your face. How can you remember a face as familiar to you as the back if your hand. The curves and dips and hallows are etched into my brain so deep that forgetting is an impossibility.

You always ask me if I remember your voice. Soft and smooth carrying me through my sorrow and my triumph.

Darling, you always ask if I remember and I always scream the answer but you never hear me. This husk of mine can't seem to remember me. She goes on about her days fading in and out of memories that are mine. That are ours. But it's like she ignores them and basks in them all at once. I keep trying to reach you but its as if we are on two ships drawing inches and inches apart.

I will tell her. Everyday I will tell her to remember until she finally listens:

I remember you.

I. remember. you.

I'm trying to remember you.

I faintly remember you.

I can't—I can't remember you.

"Who are you?"