love
I’m Not Trying To Make You Forget Her, I’m Trying To Make You Remember Me
Let’s face it
No one ever forgets the ones they loved
And sometimes people think they can forget details like a toothbrush abandoned in the sink
How the air felt warmer at a certain embrace at 5 pm by the beach
Or why the photographs from an undeveloped film come to haunt you
Years after love’s demise
But
I still love the blonde boy who kissed me in junior high
Because he made me understand teenage love
Does not necessarily have to be stained with
First time blood on the sheets
Or the catastrophy of being abandoned when you’re younger
I still love the movie director who acted like a father
Even though I didn’t want to have his children
I still love the one who held my hand in front of Church
But never took the courage to fire walk with me
Even the one
Who carelessly, unknowingly made me realize I can love again
And leave again
The way women leave when they have loved too much and men have already won the war;
And you still love her
With her imperfect cheeks and hazy eyes
They never needed contouring to look so dramatic
With her princess walk and
Uneasy bone structure
That almost made her too fragile to stand against
The tides of life
With her questionable taste in fashion
And her graceful poetry that could melt
A hundred thousand icicles
Just as she pedalled a bicycle and
Whistled at girls
With her damp, red hazel hair; and heavy smile.
You still love her
Who caressed every fleeting spread of dust in the air
With her monochrome fragrance
And her little, rosy mouth with sharp teeth that turned into diamonds
When she smiled;
You still love the girl who still sits behind the counter
At the most beloved library in town
Or the one who made you a man
A writer
And a serious respected scientist
When she left behind nothing but an empty mattress
And the walls full of her colourful sharks
You still love her, who once said for ever
And forever turned into you, her, promised lands and marriage rituals
With completely different people
From different continents.
So
We might as well face it
We’re all mad in here
Longing for belonging
Aching for a compassionate,
Caring
Sinuous
Corrupt
Technicolor show to host the ones we loved
In all
Because if that’s the sum of our parts
I know
That the storms in your life will follow
Even when I run my fingers through your hair
And I can’t make them fade away
But I will be present
Like an artist
I promise.
—
Ioana Cristina Casapu is the Managing Director of Art Parasites Magazine. She likes Brian Eno, airports and never says no to a good old Gin&Tonic.
Read all her stories and poetry here.
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