Remembrance is a nasty skill

I think the worst part of loving somebody is knowing them.
 
Knowing that they have a crescent shaped scar on their left hand.
Knowing that their body is scattered with moles that look like messy constellations.
Knowing that their hair gets lighter when the sun is absorbed into it.
Knowing how their fingers curve around the nook of yours.
 
And when you know somebody like that, it’s easy to forget them but it’s difficult to forget the details.
 
So even if my legs curve around the torso of the man I stumbled across on the street, I still try to find blue specks in his hazel eyes.
And as my hands caress the cheek of the stranger I met on the bus, I still try to engulf his scent so deeply, hoping, just hoping that maybe if I close my eyes, I can pretend it’s you.
 
I try to find a sense of purpose and belonging in their arms, but it doesn’t work.
It never works.
 
You can fall out of love with someone but you can’t learn forget them.