What would you remember of this night when you don't remember me at all?

Of this night, I will remember how painful it is to say goodbye even when it is a promise to meet again tomorrow. I will remember how difficult it is to live these moments in the knowledge that very soon, I will have to trust memories to keep them alive. Do you trust memories? I don’t. They have a way of moulding slices of our lives into little bonsai shapes that protrude where it hurts. Like, they will relegate the bit where we ended up saying the same things at the same time, not once, but twice in an evening. They will play up the bits where my presence was a shadow on a lane that didn’t belong to us. They will tell me nothing about the joy in discovering that you click your fingers with your thumb and the forefinger. This night will revisit in flashes of your smiles from the past that had for long sought a way out.

Of this night, I will remember how I sat next to you and quietly looked out of the windows at all those brightly lit streets. How I let you into yet another piece of the world that I will never again be able to reclaim.

Of this night, I will remember a stranger who found the warmth of a home by the stairs of a doorway.