I hope you don’t remember some of the things I’ve said, because I’d rather they not be remembered.

I hope you don’t remember what I looked like in my starched white dress, ribbons in my hair, and arms outstretched, because I’d rather that day not be remembered.

I hope you don’t remember all the summer evenings chasing fireflies and all the nights filled with stars and shadow puppets against white tent flaps, because I’d rather they not be remembered.

I hope you don’t remember the day by the lake when you taught me how to skip stones and the sky was the color of aquamarine, because I’d rather it not be remembered.

I hope you don’t remember what my laugh sounds like, and how you compared it to wind chimes once, because I’d rather that sound not be remembered.

I hope you don’t remember the snowman we made once or the hot chocolate mustache you were laughing too hard to wipe away, for I’d rather that winter not be remembered.

I hope you don’t remember the summer storm in which my tears mingled with the rain. I hope you don’t remember how we stood there in the downpour, my face buried in your shoulder, for I’d rather it not be remembered.

I hope you burn the note I left you, because I’d rather my words not be remembered. And maybe that way, I will fade out of memory. Out of mind. And this will ease the parting blow. I’d rather you forget my name. My face. My laugh. My eyes. My secrets. My words. My hopes. My promises. My fears. My dreams. So maybe the emptiness in your heart, once filled with me, can heal this hurt you’re feeling.

I hope you forget everything about me, so maybe…I can forget about you.