8/19/12

You Are Everything I Don’t Remember
By Lionel Ngion


I don’t remember her anymore.

Isn’t it funny how someone who was so important in your life, someone who knew you better than you did yourself, someone whose heart beat in your chest and yours in hers, could just fade from memory? Like warm breath on cold mirror. Just. Gone.

I don’t remember you anymore.

I used to be able to. In my mind you were clad head to toe in warm winter gear – a purple cap, a black woollen sweater, gloves, tights and boots that left deep imprints on the white canvass. You asked me to close my eyes, and gave a quick laugh when you stuffed a snowball into my pants, followed by an apologetic, sorry grin so I wouldn’t bring righteous retribution.

Which I did anyway.

On the way back home, you were shivering from the wet and cold, so I took off my jacket and wrapped you tightly with it. You gave me a warm, grateful smile, and I remember thinking making you smile is definitely worth a freezing or two. The wind whipped snowflakes about as I kissed you on the corner of Borough and Linthorpe, and everything faded away – the cold, the snow, the wind, the poor homeless man who sits in front of Sainsburry.

I remember shivering so badly once we were home. You took off your clothes and mine, and hugged me under those atrocious floral covers that you liked. We fell asleep like that, and I remember drifting off, thinking that it was nice to be the little spoon, and no wonder you liked it and hey I stopped shivering and…..

And that’s it. All I have are impressions. I don’t remember your face, but I remember the quirky dance of your lips. I don’t remember your hand in mine, but I remember them cozy in those fat gloves. I don’t remember your eyes, but I remember the way you looked at me and really saw me. I don’t remember your skin against mine, but I remember the shocking cold when you stuffed snow down my pants. I don’t remember how you smelled, but I remember the exact brand of lotion that you loved to use for your dry skin.

I don’t remember what you looked like, but when we hug, my chin will rest on your head, and you will tell me that you can hear my heartbeat. And I would tell you it beat for you, always. You’d kiss my chest and reply, forever.

And that would have been it, but your heart couldn’t beat anymore, and my promise that mine would for you, always, is the only reason is still is.

I don’t have many memories of you, and as time goes by, I have less as they slip throw the cracks in the wall of my mind. Maybe, the memories go back to you, maybe they have to, to make you whole. Maybe it doesn’t matter what I remember, save that I loved, and was loved, and that will have to be enough.


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A dreamer, a pilgrim, and a storyteller. I live not for the moments, but the in-betweens.