I can’t remember his face, I close my eyes and it blurs, I wonder if memory is complimenting, exaggerating, it definitely is distorting. I hate myself, as slowly I forget. I can’t remember, I lie in bed and call out for his voice, but it comes back, it’s not him, a stranger whispering in my ear, the sweet warm breath. It’s not him. And I hate myself.

“I will love you forever” I said to him, I promised him. I remember that, a memory like a blue sky. I remember holding his hand, I close my eyes, I remember its softness, and I remember my hurt. Crumbling, falling, dying with him, slowly circling my finger over his skin, his soft skin.

I hate myself, as I fall in love with someone else. As I lie in my bed and listen to breathing, up and down, slow, peaceful, breathing that’s not his, as he has no breath left. I remember my haunting promise and face my obvious lie. Because, if he were here now – I wouldn’t go back- I love someone else and its face I see, his voice I hear.

It’s his birthday, and I ponder the grave. And I hear my promise, my voice, “I will love you forever” but I don’t want to go, I don’t want to journey in the train, to kneel besides the stone, I don’t want to have to lie, to force tears – the tears are dry now, the tears have forgotten their reason.

Forever seems to be over. I did love him, I spent all day holding his hand, kissing his cheek, hiding my grief, saying over and over, “I love you baby, I love you.” And eventually he went, and my heart and mind shattered. I was ruined and alone – people too nervous to approach. I was on my own and my misery was my blanket.

I was sick, and then I got better. I learnt to smile, to let go. But now, now as I lie – as I contemplate visiting, I squeeze my eyes shut searching for a memory for his face, for his eyes – hazel and creased, I search for his voice. Was it soft, was it deep. I lied; I don’t love him, not anymore. Photos torn, abolished. And I watch my new heart, breathing in and out in and out.