Things forgotten too easily:
the feeling of mint gum and ice cream,
the undying resonance of a sigh released from the covers before sleep,
the lingering softness of chapstick on lips after a kiss,
the smaller bits of heat dancing over the surface of every cup of black coffee as it settles,
individual bubbles and their ability to stick to one another but rarely to other surfaces without being destroyed,
how bubbles are like humans in that way,
the fuzz of a peach,
how we call the down on our skin “peach fuzz” before it reaches some form of adolesence,
and only after it ages do we give it a site-specific designation,
how the words in our heads,
the series of words that are thoughts,
seem so much infinitely larger than what it is that comes out of our mouth,
and how you may never know what the other truly meant when they said what they said,
how knowing someone comletely is impossible,
how knowing yourself at all is improbable,
how understanding that every asphalt road driven over was driven over at least one time before you by the men who built it.
Things that should be remembered more frequently:
dates in history,
purposefully vague and nonchalant indie-hipster chicks,
the undying love of a mother,
lists made in the hopes that we all will remember,
lists of names,
books written to celebrate the small truths and beauties in life,
jars and bottles filled with pieces of places, bits of sand that you collected from different beaches that now sit dark on your closet shelf,
the infinite concept of thankfulness.
we sit on the edge and look out, dropping small pieces of ourselves
into a wide river below,
we rub the pieces between thumb and forefinger,
see them crumble without hesitation or fight,
small bits into the rushing water far far below,
and over time, we simply lose ourselves.
If only we would remember.