There were moments, I am fairly certain, where the world felt at peace. I was beside the person I loved and that felt like enough.

The faint memories of sitting by a fire on the warm summer nights ring through my mind. I would observe the embers that would fall to the ground and shrivel away. It reminded me of the attempts I made to tell you the extents to which I loved you, but the words would die out on the tip of my tongue. The sound of crickets and blazing fire, your breathing and mine… those were the moments I felt peace.

I can almost paint a picture in my mind of the mornings waking by your side. What had once been a cold room was overtaken by the domineering warmth you bestowed upon it. I would lie next to you and hear the birds singing their ballads, and I would wonder if they could love the way we did; if their song was meant for another as my silent symphony, never to leave my lips, was meant for you.

I can vaguely remember your face and the way you said “I love you.” How you would cry with beauty and grace, and laugh all the same. But I do not remember your name, when I knew you, or if I ever told you how much I loved you. As the cold walls of this room seem to close in like the reaper after his prey, I try to remember who you were. But I deny the truth that has taken your spot next to me: I have forgotten.