Your face is slowly fading in my periphery, that if I saw you among the crowd I'd definitely not be able to recognize you.
I can't really say I have known you like the back of my hand because even the lines drawn on my palm looked unfamiliar for me to follow when you once traced them with your fingers.
I forgot how your smell once lingered in the chilly air of that December night, now all I feel is cold.
The scar on your knee doesn't seem important anymore and the feel of your hands, I didn't know if it once made mine warm at all.
Or maybe it did but it felt like such a faraway vision now.
And
your name, the one thing I learned to whisper as a litany in the
empty room of vespers, now sounded like a completely obscure language
to me and I felt like I am just speaking in a monologue of gibber.
I
am losing you even in my memory. But the thing is, it didn't scare
me.
