Sometimes I Wonder If You Remember

Sofia Pham 

Do you remember the time in seventh grade
when I texted you by my bedroom window
because it was dark
and I didn’t want to be alone?

And do you remember saying that it was 2am,
that you should be asleep,
but humouring me anyway -
my thoughtless musings
and my digital stumbles
and the 2am autocorrect-infused madness
of a conversation.

Do you remember
when we shared a coffee in that tiny red-leather booth
and in my tattered sketchbook
you watched me draw
the back of a honeycomb blonde?

Your face was red as cherries
laughing into your cup.

It hasn’t been long,
but I don’t think I’m the same person
who called you an idiot
under cotton-fog skies
and laughed at your jokes
and crunched autumn leaves under her boots,
skittering behind you
in a game of follow-the-leader
cat and mouse
that I knew I’d never win.

Have you heard the stories
of the sun and the moon
two gods,
silver and gold,
pallid and bronze-eyed,
separated by half a galaxy
of stars?

And they would be beautiful
in my eyes
if they had only been
a bridge
and not an obstacle.

It feels like we’ve been floating here for
a millennia.

I don’t know who I am
and I don’t know who you are anymore.

But tonight,
if I text you by my bedroom window
because it’s dark
and I don’t want to be alone,
will you remember
who I am
and who you are
and who we were?