Strangers with Memories

Strangers With Memories

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I remember when it was us.

 

When laughter came so easily

that we forgot what we were laughing about.

 

When a single glance

was enough to send us into fits,

when half a sentence

could finish an entire conversation.

 

We had our own language.

 

Little jokes no one understood,

names no one else used,

stories that belonged to nobody

but the two of us.

 

I knew the sound of your laughter

before it even began.

 

I knew when something was wrong

by the way you said hello.

 

I knew the things you never told anyone,

the fears you tried to hide,

the little pieces of yourself

you only ever showed me.

 

And you knew mine.

 

We had seen each other

through days we would rather forget.

 

We had sat beside one another

when there was nothing to say,

and somehow,

that had always been enough.

 

I remember how shy we once were.

 

How every conversation

felt like stepping into unfamiliar water,

how slowly we learned

to stop being careful around each other.

 

Until there was no need

to wonder what to say.

 

No need to pretend.

 

No need to be anyone

other than ourselves.

 

I thought that was what best friends were.

 

Someone who stayed.

 

Someone who knew.

 

Someone who would always have

a place beside you.

 

But then she came along.

 

And I don’t remember

the exact moment things changed.

 

There was no announcement,

no final conversation,

no day marked on a calendar

when I stopped being your person.

 

It happened quietly.

 

A seat that used to be mine

was taken by someone else.

 

A joke I would have understood

became something I wasn’t part of.

 

A conversation I once belonged in

continued perfectly well

without me.

 

And there you were.

 

Laughing.

 

The same laugh

I had known for years.

 

The same smile

I used to think I could recognize

from anywhere.

 

Only now,

someone else was standing

beside it.

 

She knew the jokes.

 

She knew the stories.

 

She knew the little things

I had once been the only one

to understand.

 

And I stood there,

watching someone else

become familiar with you.

 

I wonder if you noticed.

 

If you ever saw me

standing just outside the conversation.

 

If you noticed how

I stopped trying to join in,

how my laughter became quieter,

how I learned to smile

at things I wasn’t part of.

 

Perhaps you didn’t.

 

Perhaps you were too busy

making new memories

to notice the old ones

standing behind you.

 

And I hated that I missed you

while you were still there.

 

Because you hadn’t disappeared.

 

I could still see you.

 

Still hear you.

 

Still watch you laugh

with that same expression

I remembered so well.

 

But I no longer knew

what made you laugh like that.

 

I don’t know your favourite colour anymore.

 

I don’t know what songs

you listen to lately,

what keeps you awake,

what makes you happy,

or what you’ve been afraid of.

 

I don’t know

who you talk to

when something wonderful happens.

 

I don’t know

who you turn to

when something doesn’t.

 

I know the person you were.

 

I remember the things you liked,

the things you hated,

the stories you told me

when we had nowhere else to be.

 

But I don’t know

the person you’ve become.

 

And perhaps

you don’t know me either.

 

It’s strange, isn’t it?

 

To stand beside someone

whose entire history

is tangled with your own

and have absolutely nothing

to say.

 

To recognize their handwriting

but not their thoughts.

 

To remember their childhood stories

but know nothing

about their present.

 

To know exactly how

they used to take their coffee,

yet wonder whether they still do.

 

I sometimes wonder

if you ever miss us.

 

Not necessarily me.

 

Just us.

 

The two people

who could make an afternoon

out of absolutely nothing.

 

The two people

who promised to stay close

without ever needing to say it.

 

Do you ever hear an old joke

and almost turn to tell me?

 

Do you ever see something

and remember that I would have liked it?

 

Or have those little things

found new places to go?

 

I wish I could say

I stopped looking.

 

That I no longer notice

when you enter a room,

or that I don’t recognize

your laughter from across the hall.

 

But I do.

 

And sometimes,

when I see you smiling beside her,

I remember how it felt

when that smile was something

we shared.

 

I don’t think you understand

what it was like

to become a stranger

to someone who once knew you

by heart.

 

There was no goodbye.

 

No last hug

that either of us knew

would be the last.

 

No final photograph

to remind us

that we were running out of time.

 

We simply became

less and less a part

of each other’s lives.

 

Until one day,

I looked at you

and realized

I didn’t know you anymore.

 

And you looked at me

as though there was nothing

to miss.

 

I still remember being

your best friend.

 

I remember how it felt

to be the first person

you wanted to tell.

 

To be the one you searched for

in a crowded room.

 

To have a place

that didn’t need to be asked for.

 

I remember being chosen.

 

And now I watch

someone else occupy that place

as though it had always been hers.

 

I don’t know

when I became the third person.

 

I don’t know

when I became the shadow

of a friendship

that no longer has room for me.

 

I only know

that somewhere along the way,

we stopped being

each other’s favourite person.

 

And nobody said a thing.

 

So I suppose

we are strangers now.

 

Not the kind

who have never met.

 

The kind

who know too much

about who the other used to be,

 

and almost nothing

about who they are now.

 

Strangers

with memories.

 

And sometimes,

I think that is worse.

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아Gㅍ/ Ariana P.