My Memory Is My Worst Enemy

Sometimes my memory is my worst enemy, like a fresh piercing in my ear when I'm trying to fall asleep, reminding me of all the stupid shit I did till I cringe so hard my left eye starts to twitch.

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But the one that I hope will stay, that's the one that slowly fades, erodes the colours and smells to a black and white silent film until a blank, empty spot is all that is left in its place.

There's one that I love. It's not completely gone. But sometimes I can't tell what's real and what's not.

I remember this letter, and the boy who wrote it. I can't picture a face, but I guess we were both six. It was around the time we just started learning to read, and that's why it was so special to me.

Alphabet became code, a game trying to decipher the note that he wrote.

On the day I lost it, I promised myself to remember every stroke that made, every word, every emotion trapped between his clumsy fingers, but sometimes, my memory is my worst enemy.

Was it with a pencil? Was it in ink? Was my name even written in any part of it?

Were there mistakes? Was it perfect? I'd ask you, but you already left.

Until now, I regret that I didn't. Sent you off with a tiny piece of my little heart.

So now I write bits of it in my poems. Throw it out in the open and hope that it makes its way home.

It's been, what, twenty years? But I still remember your name.

This is a social media post, but I promise it's not a game. I guess what I'm trying to ask is,

is your memory your worst enemy, or...

Do you still remember me?