Erased & Remembered

There was that one moment last night… that sharp intake of breath, that shocked “oooh”…

I know, I was a bit snippy. I’m sorry. You know I’m usually patient, but it’s just…

That may have been the first time with that particular topic, but it wasn’t the first time. Or the fiftieth. And at some point, maybe the hundredth time… or the thousandth… whether it's inconsequential like last night, or a thing that carries actual weight… And to not be asked, but to be told… It just stops feeling like a mistake. It starts feeling deliberate. Like… an erasure. Like my history isn’t mine. Like part of some shared history that doesn’t even matter, not to all involved.

Don't misunderstand… I don’t expect perfect recall. Hell, I get things wrong, too. We all do. But when that same pattern repeats time and again, how else am I meant to feel?

Baby, I hope you'll find forgiveness when I get overexcited over the simple act of being seen. I'd say I'm not used to it, but… I think you always have, ever since the beginning, even during all those long years before we both fell…

I confess, my heart takes far too much joy in just the idea that someone is making memories of me… and the fact that that someone is you?

sigh

My love for you is far too rich and complex to be boiled down to any one thing, but babe… the way you see me? The way you hold me in your heart with such regard and care? The way you offer me home?

sigh

Well. It really is no surprise at all how it started, is it?

Yours.