Forget You Saw This

I am having trouble stopping thinking about the crook in your arm where I fit when I sleep next to you
It is a small thing
And I don't know that it is only mine
Because I know that you have shared space with many others
And I don't always know if I can know that you would tell me about all the things and times and people you've shared,
I try to live in the moment
Because the moments are so brief
And I think of this small space I found
Where I can fall asleep with you
You with only the sheet over your chest
And me with all the blankets tucked up over my ears
Because it's cold in the room
And that's how you like it

I don't know how to put into words
The goose pimpled flesh that protruded as I waited for you to wash the shampoo from your hair in the shower
Or the way I think you're so unsure of yourself,
Are you?
Touching your tie as you leave the room and look at me
Holding your hand
Or how your foot moved away and I felt rejected (it was silly),

Learning how you like peanut butter and don't like peaches
Except the sugary-juicy ones we ate in school lunches in late eighties
Feeling like
There was progress that happened
But I don't know how to map it...
How to move back into the flow of normal life
When you tell me the photograph is beautiful
Or send me a heart
Or ask me how my day was
Or you don't ask
And we don't speak.

I wish I had a picture of our time together
So I could look at it and remember it was real

Something to catalogue in my memory
On days I feel forgotten
Or particularly empty.

The funny thing is - I don't want to feel this
I want to have those fond breezy memories too - like you say you do
Just a nice picture to look back on on days I'm feeling low
Keep me warm at night when I'm feeling a little cold
But my mind wasn't made that way
And instead I go over and over the pictures I've snatched for myself that only I can see
Of crooks in your arm and certain facial expressions and tiny moments and noises...

Today I saw a blog post about a man who took a Polaroid every day for eighteen years.

I looked at the one picture I have from our time together.
A picture of my tea and book and a chocolate wrapper on the TV tray. 
And it makes me happy.
And it makes me sad.