Homeless

I can’t remember what your voice sounds like.

I remember what it felt like to care about you.

I can’t remember what your touch feels like.

I remember what it was like to fight with you.

I can’t remember the last time we looked into each other’s eyes.

I remember what it was like to smile and cry for you.

When did all this happen? Yesterday? A month ago? A year ago?

You used to be my home. I was evicted a long time ago. Or did I move out? Both.

I was homeless for a while, exposed to the elements.

I’ve found shelter but I do not want to find a new home. Not yet.

I can’t remember you. I remember what it was like to know you.

Maybe I never truly knew you.