It’s been so long since I’ve seen you that I forgot what you look like. The ocean wave crashes down. I follow the edge of his nose. I make my way down to his forehead with a scar right in the middle. The mind bridges the gaps with stories. He is a story. I am a story. We read each other and still, I forgot what he looks like.
My mind is frustrated for it does no't know when the beginning starts and when the end is, however, the in-betweens are vivid as the sound of my breath. Unreachable with a misconception of closeness.
These fragments shouldn't bother me, perhaps it's time to let go of these stories. And if there are no stories: there's nothing to forget.