I remember.

I remember so much of what is us

I remember you and me, before we existed.

I remember days upon days of longing and

I remember days upon days of unfulfilling.

I remember wanting,

I remember needing.

I remember wanting and needing to find a way to meet you.

I remember not existing.

I remember being invisible to your feet-focused eyes

as you walked, every day, on the sidewalk nearby

with your head turned downward and you not seeing me.

I remember us passing, brushing shoulder against shoulder and

I remember wishing you'd noticed and said sorry to me so

I (could) remember us talking and me meeting you.

I remember feeling silly and stupid for hoping we'd speak,

I remember trying to ignore that that wouldn't ever happen so

I tried to forget you.

I remember I forgot you.

I remember a summer gone by,

I remember seeing you for what felt like the first time and

I remember I was sad because I didn't know you.

I remember you looked almost the same but a little grown up -

you were handsome and quiet and I wished I'd known you.

I remember passing you often

I remember pretending not to see

I remember not feeling as weird as I do as I write this.

I remember putting you aside but still admiring you.

I remember an invitation to a party I got from a girl I didn't know very well.

I remember reluctantly going to the party and hoping I'd know someone there

but I had next to no luck, but

I remember seeing you.

I remember wanting,

I remember needing.

I remember wanting and needing to find a way to meet you

and this was the way I was going to meet you.

I remember taking a chance, unafraid of shame because

I remember how much I wanted to speak to you.

I remember us talking and how easy it was,

I remember thanking God and that's uncommon for me.

I remember being silly, and you were silly too and

I remember how happy I was.

I remember you and me, we could exist.

I remember time after time of us and it was nice to not miss

any more time going by without knowing you.

I remember how great it was, my time knowing you.

I remember you being grown up; you were handsome, smart, fun.

I remember you taking time to know me.

I remember falling for you.

I remember more fear than I'd ever felt before.

I remember, though, the thrill so I didn't care.

I remember giving up on my hopes to be more but then

I remember(ed) how stubborn I was and how I kept going forth.

I remember writing for you.

I remember how you liked it.

I remember putting it all out there and being nervous and bashful,

I remember how you responded and there were sparks in the air.

I remember you and me, how we started to exist.

I remember happiness, laughter,

I remember it ending so fast.

I remember you were confused, then you were sorry.

I was so confused, you were so sorry.

I remember being us and how we were together.

I remember hoping my second chance wouldn't be over too soon.

I remember happiness, laughter, fast-falls into love.

I remember.

I remember we fall in love.

I remember dancing in your living room to the tunes in our head and

I loved it.

I loved it.

I remember I loved it.

I remember laughing until we cried, walking on your feet in the park because my

shoes were gone, (kind of) surfing at the beach, watching Cinderella Story 'cause

nothing else was on.

I remember dreaming of you, but waking up was much better and

I remember how much love we've had since we've been together.

I remember every day of my life why I wanted to meet you.

I remember every day of my life why I always need to keep you.

I remember every day and every night why I keep on loving you.

I'm going to remember for the rest of my life, 'cause we are going to make it through.

Please give me more days to remember you.

Scary house memory from New Jersey

I didn't know what time it was, but I knew I was supposed to be home earlier, 'cause I usually got home before trees turned to wraiths and wind turned to whispers chasing after me, but we were having so much fun—my friend and I—on the ready-to-give, old trampoline that was always covered in beetles who had an apparent craving to bounce with us, so I lost track of time and I was sorry for that. I was sorry for that because I hated the walk home 'cause I needed two faces to know where I was going but to know no one was following. At least I got back before mom and dad noticed but the sound of the back door slamming behind me as I rushed inside the house shot me what must have been a foot off the ground in a quick burst because it was dark all around me and I wasn't sure what to expect of this place—where I had lived for three years—that always made me a little uneasy. Maybe the trampoline hadn't taken all my bounce away, so I was still sort of weightless in my steps as I crept across tiles in the entrance and I'd memorized the path to take to avoid the half broken one that had cut my foot twice before. Blood didn't make me cringe back then; I just didn't like the incessant itchiness of a healing wound on the bottom of my foot. What came next, however, wasn't much better. The living room, though vast in size and space—a complete mansion in my childhood eyes, was a terror to tread through without the proper coverage on the soles of my feet due to the scratches, the tickles and the fuzzies—I was sure that was the technical term for them—that the kelly green carpet let climb to my ankles every time I passed through what was otherwise a wonderful room.

I walked on through the miniature forest, though, and tripped over sketch books, markers, colored pencils and a glue gun I thought I would need—things I had left out hours before that I was supposed to pick up before I went to my friend’s house to nearly break all my bones on a bouncing machine. The absence of light throughout the house still kept me clumsy and reluctant to get close to things that changed forms when days ended. Our new TV was taller than me and I was scared to go near it for fear of a girl taking hold of me and dragging me down a well in her scary black and white freaky TV world. I tried to avoid looking at the plants that hung low and sad, draping over their pots. I tried to not touch any furniture where someone I didn’t see might have been sitting. I tried to keep to myself but I felt un-alone. In my quick impulsive thought that a ghost was “going to get me,” I flew up the thirty or so stairs to my safe-haven—my room. I felt like a track star and a pilot had a god of a baby that could run so fast she could fly when she wanted and I was that baby and I was really good at flying. But I needed to learn to focus on more than one thing at a time, because I realized when I fell onto my bed that no slamming door sent me hitting my head on my popcorn-esque ceiling. I looked to my right with apprehension because I swore I’d seen a man standing in my doorway only a few nights before. He was grey and vague and tall and seemed harmless but it was still pretty eerie to see a half-human “being” staring into my bedroom and then having vanished when I blinked my eyes. But this time, he wasn’t standing there. It was a one-time thing and I wasn’t as scared but I didn’t want to get out from under my covers because I was no different—and still am no different—from every other child who knows that nothing can get you when you’re covered by a blanket and curled up on your bed.

I looked around my room and it wasn’t as scary as the rest of the house. It was big, spacious, safe. I kept darting my eyes, jerking my neck in all directions to make sure there weren’t any spots I had possibly missed where someone was hiding and waiting for me. My dark wood walls allowed no shadows to grow and my cream-colored carpet had no footprints to show. I saw a figure swiftly move as I jerked my head and I let out a squeal that probably woke up my brothers, but when I looked in the corner where my desk and mirror stood, I realized I had only copied myself and my reflection was scared too. So I excused her rapid movements as irrational reactions to an old house that made noises and looked different at night. It was scary at times, but she was safe in my room and nothing could get her and she was ok and nothing could get me and I was ok. I was always ok.

Haiku

This won't be easy.

I've never hoped so big and

never felt so small.