The freckle by your navel. That’s what I think about. It really is weird what ties you to the memory of a person. I remember you by the freckle by your navel.
It is not even a private thing. Anyone can see it. When you take your shirt off in the park in the summer. When you swim. When you stretch your arms and your shirt rides up a bit. It was in no way a secret part of you, but it feels like my own private memory of you.
It reminds me of the time when we were in the cafe that one cold spring day. You placed your coffee and my hot chocolate down. You took off your sweater and your shirt rode up slightly and it was the first time I noticed it. It was during our stolen hours, hiding away from everyone we knew. I guess it was that association that makes it so special; that it was something I learned about you in one of our secret getaways.
I told you this once, that I remember you by your freckle by your navel. You laughed it off. You said you had quite a few and I could find more if I wanted. I slapped your arm but it did not wipe the grin off your face.
I wonder how you remember me. Do you remember me by my freckles? We were trying to find cheesy things to do and so we ended up trying to find constellations in the freckles on my face. Your face was too close, your fingers were clumsy, and we did not find any. Do you remember me by small, dark streets? It was late at night, it was dark and we were walking down a poorly lit street when I told you I liked you. You said you did too.
Or do you remember me by the bad things? Do you remember me by my obsession with TV shows? Do you remember me by the time you found out I was lying about knowing how to change a tire? Do you remember me by my tendency to blame all my grammar mistakes on my being a foreigner, even though I was more than happy to point out yours every time?
What do you remember me by? Because I find myself wondering if you still remember me at all.