I’m Not Trying To Make You Forget Her, I’m Trying To Make You Remember Me

Artwork by  Jean-François Lepage

Artwork by Jean-François Lepage

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


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.


We might as well face it

We’re all mad in here

Longing for belonging

Aching for a compassionate,




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.