When I lock eyes with you I know their exact color: unsweetened chocolate with threads of amber woven through, darker than mine but having seen less
I know this on instinct and could mix the paint color from memory,
But you are a total stranger.
Your grin is distinct and your laugh has gone platinum with a million hits—everyone knows it—
But I feel lost when my gaze sets in your direction.
There are postcards in my hands, addressed to me from you, but your name looks unfamiliar—how do you know mine? For some reason I can remember things we have done together, but I have no memory of ever holding your hand, or running through pitch-black streets, or tossing notes at pretty boys, or screaming when our favorite lost on TV. I don’t remember any of it, and it irks me
I should remember, maybe, but I don’t
I could draw your hands like second instinct,
I could find you in a fervent crowd;
Your hair products and Christmas presents are burned into my mind,
The way you shiver when wind blows down your back, the way your eyelids flutter as you wake up, the color that you buy everything, everything in, the things I’ve sworn to keep from your mother—it’s here, in my mind, trying to drip its way down to my heart—once again? For the first time.
I have this vague dread that you know my secrets, this uneasiness when I glance at your profile; because I feel like I should know you,
But I don’t.
Have I ever?