I see your friend’s portrait has fallen out of the desk again

and I wonder how long it will be before you forget her.

This time,

I won’t remind you to have her write her name on the back.

I know you won’t anyway.

You think you’ll always remember.

You think you’ll always be able to see this picture and remember just who she was, the best things that existed between you.

But I remember faces, sans names I worked so hard to learn.

I remember names in stories

Laughing postures with sounds I can no longer recollect.

You believe, in the naive way that youths have about them,

That you’ll always remember.

But I, these few years your senior,

Know better the moment of realizing that one has forgotten than the statistical chance that it will happen to you. Just as it happened to me. Just as it happened to our mother and her mother before her.

 

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