Thought Catalog

Remembering You Is Easy, It’s Forgetting That’s Impossible

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Mika Matin

I remember.

I remember when I first saw you.

I remember the butterflies and time standing still and not being able to take my eyes off of you. I remember closing the door after you left, sighing to myself and thinking that maybe, just maybe, you could be mine.

I remember when you first said my name. The look in your eyes, the smile on your lips, the way you ran your fingers through your hair. I remember trying to hide my grin and running away to tell my friends. I remember the days of trying to get your attention. Standing in the gym, running errands to the football field, sneaking water breaks.

I remember when I’d look your way, and catch you looking at me too. I remember the football games. And how you asked me to paint your number on my hand. And the time you scored that touchdown. I remember sitting on the field, wanting to scream your name, but holding it back because of fear. I remember the day you told me to tear down my walls, because you wanted to know the real me. I wanted to, I wanted to so bad. But I was scared.

I remember the day you told me you’d catch me. That was the day my walls came tumbling down, because I really thought you would. I remember the first time you put your arms around me. Those strong arms that I grew to love. The source of my comfort. They held me like I was precious and fragile. They loved me.

I remember the first time you told me I was beautiful. And the second, and the third, and every time after that. I remember the smile it would bring to my face, and the warmth it brought to my heart. I remember. I remember that night on the patio. The way you sang to me, and held me, and told me I was beautiful one more time. I remember the way you protected me from the cold wind and rain. I remember your hand in mine and I remember never wanting to let go.

I remember sitting at the kitchen table looking at your face as you talk to my father. I remember hanging on the words you said and never wanting to forget. I remember thinking to myself, “This is too good to be true. There’s no way that boy in that chair is mine.” And I remember fearing I was right.

I remember the end.

I remember the creaky front porch swing and my tear stained cheeks. I remember the silence and sobs. I remember your arms around me one more time, failing to take away this pain. And I remember shutting the front door on the only one I had ever loved.

I remember, but I wish I could forget. TC mark

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