If You Asked

If You Asked Her...

If You Asked Her...

If you asked her if she remembered her, she would laugh.

It wasn't because it was a funny question,

because truly,

it wasn't.

She would laugh because the question was ironic;

she would laugh because she couldn't forget.

She couldn't forget the stars in her eyes,

or how her sweaters were always a little too big

and her jeans a little too long.

She couldn't forget how she always smelled a little bit like coffee

(in the best way possible.)

And she couldn't forget how small her hands were,

or how they always warmed up her perpetually cold ones,

or how the spaces between their fingers fit perfectly together,

like a jigsaw puzzle.

She couldn't forget forget how shrill her voice sounded when she yelled.

She couldn't forget how cold her eyes were,

or how lifeless she'd looked when she'd been crying.

She couldn't forget the exact way the door sounded when it slammed shut for the final time,

or how empty and desolate the sheets felt the first night she'd slept alone.

So, if you asked her if she remembered anything about her,

she would laugh.

She would laugh because she just couldn't forget.

She could never forget. 

-

no one will probably read this but I've been writing a lot more recently and idk maybe ill post some more, way happier stuff if this gets any response lol 

btw shouts to whoever makes the art i use in my stories, you're pretty fuckin dope

-c