I try not to remember
the way the light fell across your face
like morning choosing you first.

I try not to remember
how silence felt different
when you were inside it with me.

There are days I wake up determined —
I fold your name away
like a letter I promised myself
I would never open again.

But memory is stubborn.
It waits in corners.
It lingers in songs.
It hides in the smell of rain
and the echo of laughter
that sounds too much like yours.

I try not to remember
the small things —
the way your eyes softened
when you pretended not to care,
the way your hands spoke
even when your mouth didn’t.

I tell myself
it was just a season.
Just a chapter.
Just a moment passing through.

But some moments
refuse to pass.

They sit beside you at night
when the world quiets down
and your thoughts grow louder
than your pride.

I try not to remember
how hope once lived in my chest
like a fearless child
running toward a future
it believed in.

Now hope walks slower.
Now it looks both ways
before crossing into feeling.

I try not to remember
the promises that were never spoken
but lived between us —
in glances,
in pauses,
in the space where “almost”
became too heavy to carry.

Sometimes I wonder
if forgetting is even possible
or if we simply learn
to carry memories
without letting them crush us.

Because the truth is —
I don’t just remember you.
I remember who I was
when I was with you.

And that is harder to release.

I try not to remember
how my heart once beat
without hesitation.
How it trusted easily.
How it opened doors
without checking the weather.

Now it stands guarded.
Not closed —
just cautious.

I try not to remember
the dreams that built themselves
quietly,
brick by brick,
on a foundation of “maybe.”

Maybe is a dangerous word.
It stretches hope thin
until it tears.

But still —
even now —
there are moments
when I close my eyes
and your memory arrives
uninvited,
unapologetic,
undeniably alive.

And I don’t fight it.

Because maybe
the goal was never to forget.

Maybe the goal
was to feel deeply
without regretting
that I did.

Maybe remembering
is proof
that I loved honestly.

So yes,
I try not to remember —
but when I do,
I let the memory pass through me
like wind through open windows.

It doesn’t stay forever.
It doesn’t break me anymore.

It simply reminds me
that I once felt something real.

And that
is nothing to be ashamed of.

~TlhogiInkWords~