I'm Beginning to Forget You.

I'm beginning to forget you. 

I no longer feel my skin jump into your warmth, as though a cold body falling into a bath made for one; where I have started embracing the way your fingers trace my skin, the way your lazy unshaven Sunday beard grazes across my shoulder while we lay in bed listening to Erica Badu. 

I'm beginning to forget you. 

I have to shut my eyes tight till a frown line builds across my forehead just to remember the way your laughter dances around me like fireflies to light. I have to concentrate on the happy moments we have had, so loud then till the neighbors knocked on my doors and complained to the landlord. As though my ears stuffed with cotton, all I hear now is the muffled echoes of my crying into a pillow- as though the neighbors would knock again upon hearing how loud my heart is calling you. 

I'm beginning to forget you. 

How your eyes burnt into mine as you told me how much you had appreciated me, then. How I had to look away, as though some cynical part of me knew that all good things had to end. How I had washed rolls of film, each time you smiled and each time I fell in love with you, over and over. Had I known, that even you- the one innate possibility that would cause me to believe in unicorns and aliens- would get sick of me, I would have taken more snapshots of every moment you gazed lazily at me across the hall while I washed dinner dishes and enjoying the music both our hearts were singing.

Im beginning to forget you.

I'm telling myself every waking moment that you have left, faster than a puddle evaporating in the unforgiving sun- how I watch you walk away, hoping maybe once; just once you might turn and notice what made you allow me to make you smile the first night you held me in your arms. 

You're fading away, into the background like the end of a scene of the Twelfth Night, only there are no roses or excited chatter- only the cleaning up of aisles of what's left behind, belonging to whom and reclaiming their belongings at the beginning before the anticipation at the entrance. 

This ache for you; this.. Longing to simply be. If I allow it to fade like the autumn into the cold clear winter, if I do not feel the frostbites on the tips of my fingers; I will not feel the melting snow on my tongue or the wind- inducing dance of the flakes, and I will feel nothing at all.