Only one eye has that small spec of golden brown
within the blue
I see it when you laugh, and your eyes light up, and your body presses against mine

We’ve sat on this couch so many times already
That our shape has become familiar to it

Like— the couch is not compete with both our bodies on it
Watching TV or slanting over the small, wooden coffee table
sharing a meal

On this couch. I sit here. Impatiently
Questioning your eyes as if to surprise my own doubts

Do you still love me like you did that summer?

…or was it all made up in my mind? Did we lose love in between that time
that we spent so many months apart, separated by the big cities?

Does love forget?

Do our movements, slowly over time, start to fall away and our memories
start to fade of what it felt like to sit next to you that night under the stars, near the hospital
on the park swing, when you told me where you were from and where you were going?

Or is it all like that spec of golden brown? So cleverly put in one
of your eyes by our creator? Like it’s so special, only one eye
can hold it. If it were two, it would be too much.
I don’t know the answers anymore.

I look at you and you are laying with your head rested back, eyes closed. Content.
I do the same.


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