I'm Trying My Best To Forget This S**t

This is where it ends and begins: I remember constellations of ink pressed into your shoulderblade, and I trace the shadows and colors with the tips of my fingers like a brush painting you into existence.
When you turn over, tentatively training your icy eyes on me, I remember the color �" piercing, still sad.
Do you smile? I remember that, rare yet enough to fill the room with fistfuls of flowers and music. Your laughter is a chorus that echoes loudly enough for me to wish I could trap each note in a locket… for when the days grow dark and your muscles can’t bend that way anymore.
Oh, your hands. I remember them, too. It’s not fair how effortlessly they brush through my hair, or slip into my hands. Our hands remember one another. The roads in our palms create entire maps and we carry the world between us. Everything here, in this twisting knots of fingers, is what we own.
Your hands are on me, pressing against my spine. I couldn’t forget that, even if I tried. I want you to rip me limb from limb just to stitch me together again. Your hands pull and your lips kiss to soothe the steam rising from my skin just as quickly. I want to love you, I think wildly, again and again just so I can feel this magic rise up in my throat. You’re smiling again. I remember that, I remember that.
Our bodies are tangled. I remember this �" the way it feels to love you, to hear your heartbeat drumming against the side of my sweating face. We breathe together, and I swear my skin is dancing in your arms. I remember loving you �" the beautiful parts, like creating art from nothing at all. It’s beautiful to be here, I think, because I remember what it’s like to be yours again. I almost thought I had forgotten.
The door closes. I am alone. I am driving and I am alone. I fall asleep and I am alone. I stare at my phone and I am alone. I pray to God and I am alone. I brush my hair and I am alone. I curl my eyelashes and I am alone. I wonder about you and I am alone. I imagine you sleeping and we are alone, alone, alone, alone. We are alone.
It’s a terrible thing to reignite this desperate, aching want. It’s a terrible thing to remember your shoulders or kiss or the way you speak lazily in the morning. It’s a terrible thing to remember how much you loved something when it was yours to love.
These things are easily broken. These ties are easily severed. We remember, but memory makes fools of girls like me �" the ones with hope and faith, the ones who forget how painful a cut can sting until she is already bleeding.
But I could never forget this �" the way it feels to lose you, all hope I ever had that you would remember my name slipping from my hands.