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Help Me Remember These Streets
The familiar click-clack of her shoes on the cobblestone street was welcomed.
It made her feel at ease, knowing she recognized this street.
The man who walked beside her, though she could not remember who he is,
informed her this cobblestone street in the museum are like the one she grew up on.
“Help me remember,” she whispered to the street. The boy heard and gripped her hand tightly.
They hoped if she walked the familiar street long enough she might remember.
She might remember the way she and her friends ran around for hours.
The blazing summer days when she would run into the convenience shop to get a rootbeer.
The chilling winter nights when only one or two stores would still be open.
Walking hour after hour her hand encased by her boyfriends as they laughed and talked.
“Help me remember,” she whispered again to the street before continuing to walk.
It then occurred to her, who walked beside her.
She was here with her boyfriend, at least she assumed they were still together.
She couldn’t remember, so she asked, he smiled brightly and said, “yes, darling, going on seven years.”
She smiled excitedly at the fact that she had been able to remember something.
It was not often that this would happen.
“Help me remember,” she whispered to the street as they continued walking up and down the street.
The pair would spend as much time here as possible, trying to jog her failing memory.
He was overjoyed that this time she remembered him.
All too soon, the museum was closing, meaning they had to leave.
He did not want to because he didn’t want the pain of her not remembering.
“Don’t let me forget,” she whispered, this time to the boy, as they walked away.