A One Sentence Story About Our Breakup

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I used to think about that one time where you took a pen and wrote me a letter about how much we used to be in love and about how we used to ride down to the shore and listen to the breaking waves and feel the cold salty water drown our feet in its glory and foam and reading long overdue library books and drinking homemade lemon tea and you lying down singing softly to me and taking pictures of us on the old camera that stands dusty and untouched on my mantle and I remember reading Gogol to you and you falling asleep in the middle of The Overcoat and your silent yet visible snoring but now as I sit here drinking my ancient black coffee on this rickety old couch and remember the days gone by your face becomes further and further softer as the memories get shelved and reshelved over and over again and with each passing remembrance of your delicate face I cannot seem to remember your being anymore and I can’t help but ask myself if it was all a dream.