You think I don’t give a shit about you because I can’t remember your name. You’re sure I don’t care about you because I can’t seem to remember your birthday, and I keep telling you the same things over and over and over again because I’ve forgotten I already told you. You think I don’t give a fuck because the things you tell me about your day just seem to spin right out of my brain. But there are things I remember, things I can’t tell you, things that don’t translate into words. I remember the way you talked when you got excited, how you interrupted yourself mid-sentence because something about your first sentence excited you more, and three words into that sentence you interrupted yourself again, and I remember how you’d get endearingly embarrassed because you thought I was laughing at you. I remember how you did your damndest to never let your feelings show. I remember how you kept your voice level when you were spitting mad and your eyes cold when you spoke about heartbreak. And I remember catching you listening to someone else’s story, and those dead black of eyes of yours just exploding with compassion and hurt and that kindness you tried so fucking hard to hide. I can’t remember your middle name or your favorite color, but your smile is burned into my fucking brain. I remember the look on your face when you come, and though I can’t remember what color your eyes are, fuck, I remember losing myself in them. I don’t remember the things you said to me that morning, but I’ll never forget the way you looked at me like you knew you were never going to see me again. I remember that last kiss at the train station, and I remember seeing you across the platform through the train window, both of us straining for one last look. So fuck your name and your birthday - I remember you.