Trying to forget

Trying to forget the look your bold eyes gave me, silently tracing the edges of my body, then holding my eyes in their gaze – for a moment – before I shyly turned away.

Trying to forget the way you placed your hand on the small of my back.

Trying to forget the way you smelled as I sat next to you

and picked off the small green caterpillar from your shoulder, your black shirt warm in the early May sun.

Trying to forget your tan forearm and clean, strong hands next to mine: liking the looks of them and wanting them for myself.

Trying to forget that August evening we walked back to your car together,

through the trees, darkened by the fading daylight.

Trying to forget the time you gently placed your hat on my head:

me, laughing while trying to make it fit right;

you, wondering if it fit at all.

Trying to forget, months later, seeing her hold that hat as

she waited for you, unsure, until you came back and stood beside her, completing something I saw so clearly it hurt.

Trying to forget that it was really never more than these few, silent moments:

me, wanting them to signify something greater.

Searching for a connection, clinging onto any small piece of affection.

You, wanting someone who would listen, someone to fill her temporary absence.

Though she was not absent; you had just pushed her aside

in the face of rage and frustration.

Trying to forget your searching eyes as you hesitantly said goodbye while I wondered how much sincerity was behind them.

I still wonder.