a half-remembered you

Some people are like half remembered dreams – they aren’t the first people that pop into your heart when you wake up; they aren’t the people you love, the people you’ve newly met. You must be reminded of them – something must spark your hidden memories, letting them suddenly and utterly burst out of you. You’ll remember them for an instant, but then your mind will focus back to the ones you love and those you’ve just smiled to and they will once again be half-remembered, waiting for a different catalyst to bring them to the eye of your storm like that girl who said she loved your pants, recalling her memory only when you slip your thin legs into each hole beneath the elastic waistband, smiling at her enthusiasm for your plain black and white flares that you bought at a boutique in Florida with your parents, which reminds you of the cute Hispanic waiter that offered you a margarita with a smirk, seeing that it was cold and you were wearing a white tank top without a bra and he couldn’t possibly have been staring at you and your brown eyes so it must have been your small, firm nipples that attracted his gaze and kept him interested instead. So now you find yourself wearing bras less and less frequently because even though he might have only been starting at your flat, yet seemingly excited chest, at least it was your chest and someone was paying attention and someone considered you deserving of their fleeting world. So you add up his seconds of staring with the man on Newbury Street and the little girl who liked your shoes and tell yourself that it’s really just like one person, collaged together, staring at you for an eon, at the right things, the things that matter - at your smile lines and one strand of curly hair and your extra-long fingers. Soon, the half-remembered people become the dream you’ve always longed for, the one you imagine before falling asleep at night, the one wish you hope will come true with every eyelash that falls onto your cheek: the reality of waking up from a long night’s sleep and finding love and stares and grey eyes in front of you, coming and going with each blink, now appearing only when your eyelids open, not as they close and envision twinkling stars and muffled sounds and what some say is actually an image of your brain.

I don’t want to see my brain anymore, I already think too much.