I forgot how to love following my late husband.
I forgot how to lower my guard.
I forgot how to let someone in.
I forgot how to hold someone close.
I forgot how to smile to myself about something romantic.
I forgot how to clutch an offered hand.
I forgot how to kiss someone's lips.
I forgot how to not feel as lonely.
I forgot how to trust.
That is until I met you, for the sweetest period of my life. Before you left me, following the darkest period of my life. From then on, allowing me to remember everything you left in your wake.
I remembered how I finally lowered my guard down for you.
I remembered how I let you in.
I remembered how I held you. All through the night, or subtly through the day.
I remembered how I smiled about us when you weren't around.
I remembered how I would clutch your hand and squeeze it reassuringly.
I remembered how your lips felt against mine. Soft, warm. The imprint of red stains I needed to wipe away.
I remembered how I was no longer lonely. I was safe, always with you.
I remembered how much trust I invested in you. And you, alone.
I remembered how to love. Because of you.
And now I remember to forget.
To forget everything I remember about us.
About you.
