On the fringe of forgetting, once more you appeared, like wind, in my dream. You always return, adding another note to the memories I’ve tucked away of you. Down in the depths of my drawer are moments we never lived. Hesitations giving way to euphoria. Sorrows stemming from my expectancies.
Only in ephemeral atmospheres of dreams did you see my authenticity, my worries, my desires laid bare. Waking brings the knowing that no communication would replicate the feeling. I wanted to see your eyes hold mine, not in searching but in longing, since you understand all too well. To feel your caress, to be safely in your embrace, be held and meld with you.
But you are only in my dreams. There is no stack of dreams catalogued away in your desk of me. When you met me I was not the person I should have been. What would you think if we met now? Could I be your dream instead?
For now, I’ll write another note of you. Reminders of your fleeting, cutting appearances.
When will I forget again?
How can I love when you’ve forgotten me?