The Memory of You

He didn’t know it yet but I was saying goodbye.

I struggled to memorize every line on his face. How his chocolate brown eyes looked alight with laughter. How he licked his lips after we kiss as if chasing the lingering flavor of us.

For a moment in time, I belonged to him. It was brief but nonetheless lasting. It is forever imprinted on the grooves of my soul. For a small moment, he made me feel – and like in all things, it didn’t last.

He is smiling at me, asking me when he’d see me next. His tone was light and hopeful?

I smile and pause, savoring the the sharp scent of soap and the faint musk of sex as I stand close to him.

“I’ll call you, hey?” was what I said, my red lips curved into a smile to soften the blow.

He nods, his smile dips a bit and we part ways.

For a while there, I hoped, that he would ask me to stay. I hoped he would see the farewell in my eyes and how I wished that he would hold my hand a while longer.

But he didn’t. He opened the cab door for me and just as he always did, he watched me go.

He stood under the lamppost as the taxi moved away, his hands in his pocket. He stood there, still, even as the car turned the corner obscuring me from his view.

And I sat there, my red lips still curved in a small smile as I caressed the memory of him inside my head.



Raw musings as I sit here, procrastinating. Unedited – lest I risk courting the anxiety (not today!) that comes with rereading and correcting grammatical errors. eurgh.

I should start on the chores but I can’t bring myself to get up.


I hate feeling like this.



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