It should matter more.
The time it takes to remember
always seems longer than the time it
takes to forget and I’m forgetting.
I’m forgetting the rings on your fingers.
I’m forgetting the mess of your hair that curled slightly in the front if you let it.
I’m forgetting the way you covered your mouth when you smiled, like I sometimes do.
I’m forgetting the way you crossed your legs, the way you smoked, and walked and waited, the way you took your coffee and the way you took your time.
I’m forgetting…perhaps that is the only way to go on.