Song of forgetting

I hadn't seen her in six years. Six long years in which I had completed my degree, gotten a job, and gambled my inheritance away. Time had not changed her much besides magnifying her beauty ever the more; she was still the same lively, pure spirit. I could see as much even from a distance.

I remember her brilliant smile and bright eyes when we first met, which pulled me into an inescapable vortex. I remember her light voice and her laughter, her witty intellect and girlish innocence.

I remember picnics by a shining lake and hikes in the hills under a smiling sun. And the film watched with hands intertwined for the entire two hours; afterward, we lay on a hill, the moon and stars above us, the grass beneath us, candlelight around us, and nothing in between us. I remember the joys and the trials we shared.

I remember the three words that spoke to my heart from her pink lips one night almost ten years ago, like the song of soft fingers and warm breath, and which I spoke in kind. I remember the fire-like warmth and jigsaw perfection that followed. The ragged breaths and burning caresses.

As we drew close that day, walking on the street, approaching
From opposite directions and came to be
Shoulder-to-shoulder,
I... kept on walking, and didn't turn
Back.