Archive of Our Own

I Can't Remember You Anymore

I can't remember anything about you anymore.

The old videos and interviews from when we were still best friends are like dusty old photo albums, reminding me of how things used to be. I want to remember what you were like, and in a way, I do. I want to remember your face, but I think God was merciful when He made me forget it, because I know that if I looked for the photos where I once held you close, I would cry.

I want to, but I don't know what I want. I only know that I carry this feeling, this need to want.

Time moves forward, but I don't.

I constantly find myself submerged in something that once meant everything. I don't even notice it happening. One moment I'm holding a steaming cup of coffee, and the next I'm remembering silly little stories—so insignificant that if anyone else heard them, they wouldn't laugh or cry, because there is nothing remarkable about them.

The only remarkable thing is that you were there.

I don't know what's more painful: trying to remember you, or remembering you.

A long time ago, I started forgetting your face. At some point, I even forgot what it felt like to miss you. But for some reason, while I was walking down the street, I heard a song you used to love, and without meaning to, I couldn't help but remember you—or at least what was left of you inside me.

I don't remember you anymore.

I don't know you anymore.

All that's left of you is the knowledge that you made me happy.

How did we end up like this?

Did we forget those stupid promises to stay together forever?

Or did we simply decide to stop being stupid children?

I think about you as often as I breathe.

I wish I could still remember you.

I wish I could still know you.

But more than anything, I wish I wouldn't forget you.

Would you answer if I called again?

Would you open your door expecting anyone but me standing on your doorstep? Would you be disappointed to see me there?

Or have you missed me too?

At first—at the very beginning—I clung to the memories I still had of you. I told everyone who was willing to listen about you, never saying your name aloud.

I was afraid that if I spoke your name, I would forget it.

Afraid that once I finally said everything I felt, I would stop missing you.

I've experienced that before.

I tell people about my problems, and somehow—though I have no psychological explanation for it—they stop weighing on me. They don't disappear, but I move past them.

I don't want to move past you.

But I don't want to hold on, either.

I have so many good things in my life now that the thought of going back and fixing what happened feels heavy. I have so many wonderful things now.

Just not you.

I don't have you in my arms.

And my cold lips still whisper for your return.

I have everything, and at the same time, nothing.

You were my everything.

But you made me feel like nothing.

Your absence is the most present presence in my life.

It's cruel.

That we drifted away from each other until we ended up like this.

Right now I'm crying on the sofa furthest from everyone else—in the lowest floor of the house. Only the walls will witness my tears.

I don't know who you are anymore.

I convinced myself that I did, but I know you're no longer the same person.

You're not the same boy I wanted to build my dreams with.

You've changed.

And all I have left is a version of you that has already died, because I don't know you anymore. I only know who you used to be.

You changed.

Every night I wonder how much.

What kind of person are you now?

I want to know you again.

I want to understand you again.

But that will never happen.

Do you miss me?

Do you think about me?

Do you stare at the ceiling wondering if I think about you?

I miss you.

I think about you.

I stare at the ceiling thinking about you.

Things are going well for us apart, I suppose.

I'm not miserable.

And from what I've heard, neither are you.

So I guess, as much as it hurts, this was for the best.

I barely remember you anymore, and that hurts—more than hurts, really.

But it had to happen if we wanted to stop hurting each other.

Maybe I don't remember you now.

But I will always remember who you once were.

My best friend,

I think I have killed your memory.