JUST SARA

And one day, the scent of your scarf will disappear. And it will no longer be your scarf. And I will no longer remember the sound of your voice. Or the way that you held me when it was cold, and insisted I take your jacket. I will no longer know your hopes or dreams, or understand the things that are hurting you in life. I will no longer remember the sound of your laugh, or the inside jokes that we made. One day, my arms will no longer remember holding you, and my hands will no longer remember clutching yours. And my head will forget how it was to fall asleep on your chest. And I will learn to fight my own monsters, with my own swords and I will stop crying out for you in my sleep. And one day, I will not feel tears seeping out of my eyes whenever somebody mentions your name. I will not look for you, in every coffee shop, down every street. I will not let everything remind me of you, every bench, every park, every sunny day. I will not feel pain, at the emptiness, at the silence, at the loss. It will not tear at me, the way it does now. One day, I will be able to remember without missing; I will be able to carry on living. But today is not that day.