Things I Will Never Forget

When you leave, I fall apart. I don’t go out for days. I forget to go outside. I forget how the sun rejuvenates my face. I forget how nice it is to exchange common greetings on the street. To see a brief smile of recognition – a brief acknowledgment of your existence: I can see you. I am aware you are alive.  I lock myself in my room and watch video compilations of fictitious romances on YouTube. Sit in front of my laptop and feverishly wait for our instant messaging window to pop-up.

I forget about that time we planned to picnic in High Park. With a wicker basket, checkerboard blanket, sans-crust sandwiches and all. And after we were full, you would weave your fingers through mine, pluck a fern out of my hair, and direct my gaze overhead to a flock of sparrows in mid-flight. We’d join them, lifting our checkered cloth-wings. Watch it flutter in the wind. Suspended in perpetual motion.