Dear You, Pt. 5

dear you

Is it wrong that I have forgotten about you? In the beginning, even after you left, you still remained. Your name was etched onto my lips, your scent buried underneath a pile of clothing forgotten in the corner of a closet, your whisper trapped within the walls of a now empty room. I constantly found myself awake at night staring at the blank ceiling above, convinced that you would eventually obscure my view and remind me that you were still here. Even my dreams tiptoed on line separating reality and fiction, causing my brain to go into a hysterical panic whenever it tried to determine what was real and what wasn’t. On most days, I would welcome the notion that you were still around and firmly believed that your absence would merely last a moment. And in the next you would arrive at the door, asking to be let in because you forgot your key. And as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, I slowly began to recuperate. I began to feel the harsh sting of loneliness and the inevitable realization that you had left. Unknowingly, my feet would lead me to places I had locked away in my memory, places that only we knew. Perhaps sadly enough, after some time had passed, I did not associate you with those places. It was as if my mind had developed a defense mechanism whose main purpose was to exterminate all memories of us. Like how the body creates white blood cells to combat germs, my body deemed that the best path to recovery would be to rid myself of you. I could not fight it, for this process seemed necessary to heal and to ensure that these wounds would not open once more. But regretfully so, I have forgotten you. I have forgotten the memories, your smile, your sweet embrace. Everything. But if we ever bump into each other, pretend you do not recognize me. Do not ask me if I’ve been well. Because if I remember, if I recall anything from when the idea of “us” existed, I will be unable to return to this state of peace.

So goodbye, and I hope to never meet you again,
Me

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