What’s harder, remembering or forgetting?

Because my life has been a story of either/or, since the day you said goodbye. You didn’t actually say goodbye. Your exact words were “take care”, but who cares about the details?  

I do.  

I’m obsessed with details. I live a life stuck in details. Details were what made me fell for you in the first place. The way you casually tied up your hair in a bun because you couldn’t be bothered straightening it, not knowing you were actually more beautiful that way. Casually beautiful. Or how you always avoided words such as always, forever and never. You kept saying that you can’t be sure about anything in this life and those words can only be uttered by Father Time and his daughter Future. I wonder if you still read poetry or listen to indie songs.  

I do. 

Remember that one time in the car, driving home late at night from our weekend away in Cornwall? That’s the longest I’ve been quiet. But it was the sweetest silence I’ve ever been part of. You directed it perfectly – smiles, touches and looks were timed to perfection, filling the void, pushing my mind into overdrive and setting my pants on fire. You had that kind of power. Creating chaos masked as nothingness and making memories that could very well be memoirs. I don’t think you remember it. 

I do. 

Is forgetting a voluntary action or a passive state of mind? Because the more I try to forget you the more I remember you and when I stop trying, I remember you even more. Get out there, meet other people, occupy yourself with stuff, they said. What they fail to realize is that I see you everywhere I go and instantly compare everyone I meet with you. I wish I could unmeet you. 

I really do. 

Remember when I asked you to marry me? 

I do.