What We Remember, What We Forget

Sometimes
I wonder what people wonder about
tossing and turning in their beds
thinking, pondering, avoiding
thought after thought after thought.

I remember that time
when we took your dog to the beach.
We had to climb down the ravine
under the bridge and over the rocks.
It had just rained and I slipped
and cut my knee.
But I kept on going because
I didn't want to cry in front of you.

People ask me why I am the way I am
and I ask them why birds fly.
Most walk away after that
but I remember one girl
who said
"They fly to escape."
Then she sat down next to me.
I never got her name.

I tried to write a letter once
but when I was done
I realized I hadn't written anything
except "Dear" and "Sincerely."

I was walking to the park yesterday
when it started to rain.
As it got heavier I remembered you
and everyone else
and I wondered
if anyone will remember me.