Poison Oak

As we both know, after things are lost you miss them a little less as time goes by. The wound is fresh in the beginning; you frantically search for that lost thing you can’t seem to find, you look in places you know it could never be, places you never even go, and then… after a few days you search when it’s convenient or when you happen to be some place you might have lost it. Perhaps, you’ll glance around your closet for a lost teddy bear or under the couch when looking for a remote control…

That’s how it was with you. Frantically, I searched for clues or answers or anything that could tell me why you left. I knew where you were, I just couldn’t understand why you would never tell me… Why you never asked me to go with you.

And then… I just stopped. I didn’t miss you so much and I’d conditioned myself not to care. When I closed my eyes, I had a hard time seeing your face. I forgot its shape, the color of your eyes. I knew they were hazel, but I couldn’t see the shade. I forgot your crooked smile and the sound of your laugh or the slight kick in your voice when you spoke my name. Soon enough, over time, you were no longer my best friend but the boy who used to live next door. That boy who ditched me for a foreign country just south of the border.

I can’t help but to wonder sometimes if that’s how you feel about me. If you can still see my face when you go to sleep and hear my laugh. I wonder if you can still see the blush that made way to my cheeks when you whispered my name into those old soup cans when we were too old to play telephone in the back yard. I wonder if you remember the swings or that time we spent spring break by the lake. I wonder if you remember all the time or if it only sneaks up on you when you least expect it like it does for me. Sometimes, I hope it makes you feel sad, like you’ve made a mistake you can’t correct. I hope that you miss me so much it hurts just to think my name.

But sometimes, when I’m tired and lying in the backyard counting stars, I get the feeling that you may have forgotten about me. Maybe you’ve found a completely new life and it’s better than the one you had here with me. I think that’s the saddest part of it all because I hate it here too, and I don’t blame you for wanting to leave; for having the guts to actually do it.

I guess I’m just bitter.

As much as I hate to say it, I only try to hate you. It’s hard to hate someone you love as much as I love you. Even though I can’t remember your face, I want to touch it. I can’t remember your laugh, but when I least expect it, I hear it. I feel your smile even though it isn’t there. I blush at the memory of you whispering my name.

I remember you, friend, even though I’ve forgotten.