Never Pretended to Fly

Can’t forget that time you wore a white scarf. I remember that time you told me you’ve never owned a cape, worn it around, and pretended you could fly. I remember that time I gave you a cape. I remember that time you tried to buy me a 30 dollar shirt. It was purple, I remember. I refused to let you spend that much money on me. I remember how much you hate money. I remember how you always bought dinner. I remember how I always bought tickets to shows. Except that one time you bought the tickets. I remember how much you loved it when I took you to musicals. I remember how great you looked in a tie, and how much you hated wearing one. I remember how you wore them for me. I remember how you took them off, with me, in the car. I remember how you drove everywhere. I remember how you picked me up from the train. I remember how you called me on the train, but hated when others would talk while riding. I remember how I hate phone calls, but love talking to you every night. I remember how you would tuck me in. I remember how you would greet me every morning. I remember how every day had an unmatched glee to it. I remember how sometimes I’d get to talk to you after class, before work. I remember how everyone at your work talked about me. I remember how you used to talk about me. I remember when you used to talk to me. You’d tell me about your day. You’d ask how mine went. You’d listen to anything and everything I’d say to you. Sometimes you’d even remember it. I remember how you forgot we’d been together a month. I remember how you remembered we’d been together two months. I remember how you agreed with me we had been dating four months, but really it was only three. I remember dreaming of dating daty Louis. I remember telling you that story, and I remember you giggling. I remember singling out your giggle from the entire crowd that time you came to see me perform. I remember how you loved to see me perform. I remember how you had me show you my audition pieces. I remember how you picked me up after an audition, and took me to dinner. I remember eating at the pie pizzeria and how you think the candles smell like vagina. I remember Costco. I’m sure you’d like to forget Costco. I remember that time you came to a party with me. I remember that time I got drunk and shoved a kit kat in your face. I remember, now, that you didn’t like it. I remember our first date. I remember how you gave me a kit kat with some pictures of our first date. I remember how I stole you a kit kat for being accepted into the social work program. I remember how you dumped me to focus on social work. I remember thinking that was ok and noble. I remember feeling alone. I remember being cold. I don’t even remember our last kiss. I don’t remember the last time I felt like that. I can’t remember the last time you held my hand, touched my leg or called to tuck me in. I don’t recall ever being your friend. I don’t remember you really making that effort. I don’t remember what it is like to feel like someone cares about me. I can’t remember, because I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that.