What a handsome girl you are.
Such a beauty. But I had you figured all wrong. I miscalculated.
And now here we are. Threadbare, and stark.
Doctors say I'm forgetting my self more as the days begin and end. It seems to be that the sun is relieving me of myself as it lazes through the heavens. By day's end I feel a bit lighter.
You can see it in my eyes. You tell me the color changes and that it frightens you. You say the vibrancy dulls with each passing moment. You cry, I cry. You're carrying mementos now. That necklace I bought for you in Morocco. The bracelet we picked up in Montreal, its stone rich and gleaming red.
You spend more and more time listening to your favorite songs. You say they carry your memories. They're tied to moments. Here you sit threading all of these happenings to one another. You're putting together a mosaic of our lives.
I can't remember how we met. I can't remember the moment I proposed to you. I can't remember the ceremony. I can't remember the birth of our first baby nor that of the second.
Through the tears you describe everything to me in the most painstaking detail. You tell me of the man who harassed you and yours. How I was pummeled but smiled through it all. You tell me of the dress you wore, and how I persistently tried to steal glances at you. You tell me of the exact moment you fell in love.
You smile. But your face is slick with tears.
You chuckle. But you're all choked up.
You hug me. But you hold on for dear life. You try to keep me anchored. As if I'd just up and float away. I feel soo very light.
There are days now where I plant myself in a chair near the window, and bask in the sunlight. It warms my cheeks, and gives me a sense of weight.
I feel the most complete while immersed in the sunlight. Yours is a familiar face. A face with a name that I just can't place. I know the curve of your cheeks. I know the tenderness of your lips. I know the tears in your eyes, but I don't know you.
You are a sweet woman.
You visit daily. You cried today, and I comforted you. I don't know why you cry, you never want to say.
I have a sense of Deja Vu holding firmly in my gut. Have I met you someplace before now? Did we laugh, and regale one another with stories of this and that? What did I wear? What did I say? Was I charming? I hope so, because you are lovely.
Today you held my hand. I love your smile.