I remember seeing you.
Fifty years ago today
we crossed paths and locked eyes.
You said you could never forget my smile.

I remember the beginning, when
it was warm, but your embrace
sent an electric chill down my spine.
Everything felt new, like memories in the works.

I remember every first we shared,
right up until
the worst had snaked its way in
between our hearts, like a chronic nightmare.

It only haunts one.

I remember the feeling—I had lost you.
The beastly malady stole you away, leaving
two empty bodies, lost and confused.
Numbing just one from everything real.

I remember how we began.
I’ll remember how we end.

I remember the pain of losing fifty years as one,
and can’t seem to forget
that every day the pain you would feel
succumbs to dementia, while I suffer broken hearted and

alone.