when hearts heal, hearts forget

Eat the sushi.
Don't look over. Don't remember.

He knows. And I know. And we're both pretending that we haven't noticed the other is here.

I have to think back, think hard about the last time I saw him.

You're remembering. Stop remembering.

Oh yes, I remember now. He was walking away, saying "goodbye, darling" over his shoulder with a smile. I was happy, thinking we'd see each other again. It wasn't over. I wasn't worried.
Pfft. Gone.

Your parents are talking to you.
Listen to the party plans for next week. Add your thoughts.

My thoughts. His kisses that lasted all night. His lips, moving to the rhythm of the poetry lines he wrote for me. The dreamy way I banked on forever.

The quiet way he slipped out of my mind long ago.

Maybe it's not even him; how do you know it's even him? Can't be him. Your heart's not doing anything crazy. You can still breathe. He never used to let you breathe, remember?

My heart pounded at the sight of him. I smoked just to regulate my breaths when he smiled and kissed me. Yeah, I remember.

It's him though. He burned that scar into his knuckle when we cooked once.

He started your fall. He left you to pick up the pieces for the first time. You spent sleepless nights wishing you could see him again. He promised he'd never hurt you.

My heart broke a thousand ways after he left.
There were boys and boys and boys after he left.
I drank and lived and loved after he left.

And now he's right there.

He's right there.

And I forgot his name. I thought it was Eddie.