We strayed. From our spouses. From our lives. We let ourselves go and we let ourselves get wrapped up in a moment that wasn’t real. I fell into your lap for what felt like a millennia. In reality, it was ungraceful and clumsy and took less than two seconds. I more plopped than sat down. You and I both grunted with the force of my impact. It wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t like what you see in movies. Regardless, there I was, half in the sand, half on your lap, your hand in mine, my other hand hovering in the air like Ricky Bobby when he doesn’t know what to do with hands. You let go of my hand, and with both hands brushed my tangled hair away and embraced my face. I felt so small. Your hands spanned the length of my face, my cheeks, onto my temples, onto my neck, holding me. I met your gaze. Your eyes were grey that day, not the blue I had registered on the boat, still brooding and turning, still dangerous, but no longer blue. You leaned in, the tip of your nose grazed mine, “Lana West, you consume me” and with that you kissed me. I let it happen. My hands, once frozen in midair fell to my sides, I felt the soft sand on my knuckles. I felt the breath leave my body. I sighed. “Should I stop?” I answered you by kissing you back, leaning in deeply, wrapping my hands around your waist and pulling at your shirt. Grabbing handfuls of it into a tight fist and pulling it toward me. As your tongue brushed across mine, casually gracing my lips, I knew I was lost. I knew that whatever this was, I was in it. I should have felt ashamed. I should have felt regret. I should have stopped. I pulled you in closer.

We only had moments on that beach. The lunch was scheduled to last an hour. We wasted half of that on the walk to and from the cove. It was moments that live in my memory as years. I think of that beach and that kiss and that moment as a lifetime rather than a fleeting incident. We walked back to the cove, hand in hand, leaning on each other. As we parted the woods you let go of my hand and walked away from me to the boat. We rode back together, but not touching, not speaking. We were just two lonely travelers on the same excursion, nothing to see here folks. Nothing to see at all.

As the cat docked, I turned and asked, “will I see you again?” “Of course you will Lana, the boat isn’t that big.” You grinned; you had this devilish grin. Completely noncommittal. Completely aloof. Completely unreadable. Already panic had set in, what had I done? Who was I? What was I doing? What did this mean? I returned to my cabin. Robert was asleep in the bed, still in his swimming trunks. He was snoring. I didn’t know what to do. I decided to take a shower and prepare for dinner. It was late, almost six, almost dinner time. When I got out of the shower Robert was awake. “You ready for dinner? I’m starving.” “I will be, you need to shower.”

Robert and I dressed and went to the Italian themed restaurant on the boat. They seated us at a table in the middle, crammed in between all the other diners. I had a view of the entrance. I watched as you walked in twenty minutes later with Madison on your arm. My heart stopped. You looked dashing, pressed shorts, an aqua collared shirt, I think it was Lacoste. Your hair was tousled and over one eye again, I was always struck by how blonde it was. I was a swimmer in my youth, I remember that “swimmer hair”, you had it. Straw like, but soft, full of body, sexy. You took my breath away. Madison, however, was not what I had imagined. She was short, shorter than me by several inches and I’m only 5’5, and she was stocky, at least twenty pounds heavier than me, but not muscular. I had spent years in boot camp and CrossFit and yoga, I was thick but built, she looked…plain…I hate myself for thinking that, but that was the first word that came to my mind, plain, she was completely, normal. I was shocked at just how normal she looked. I was right about the big boobs though, but otherwise, I was way off. Her hair was dark brown, maybe black and pulled back in a severe ponytail. No bangs. She looked tired. Her dress was ill-fitted, floral design, spaghetti straps, and wrinkled. She was wearing flats, maybe Toms, I couldn’t tell. I was dressed in a black strapless number, fitted, I was still ready to show off my newly lost weight. My shoes were strappy and pink with little flowers on the toes and they showed off my pedicure. I resisted the urge to stand up and wave to get your attention. I didn’t need to, you saw me and headed straight to our table. We had been seated at a four-top, there were two open seats, “mind if we join you?” Before I could answer Robert said, “sure, have a seat.” You pulled out Madison’s chair and then sat beside me. I could feel you beside me, the heat radiating off your body, or maybe it was mine, I felt myself flush. “I’m Thomas, this is my wife Madison”, you held out your hand to Robert across the table. He took your hand, “I’m Robert, this is my wife Lana, we’re from Boston.” “Georgia by way of Ohio for us.” The dinner continued in this fashion, small talk between all parties. Where we were from, what we did for a living, the fact that neither of us had children, where we went to school, favorite sports teams, favorite places, and on and on. It was easy conversation, I was shocked at how easily we could sit there and lie, sit there and pretend. Madison was nice, polite, smiled easily, laughed quietly. I liked her. It was such a bizarre feeling, but I thought to myself at one point, “she’s someone I would be friends with.” When dinner ended you and Robert stood and shook hands again. You took my hand in yours and said “Lana West, it was a pleasure to meet you.” With that, you walked away, holding Madison’s hand.

Robert and I left the restaurant and headed to a disco bar on the boat. You weren’t there. We only had two more nights on the boat. There were no more excursions. We were at sea, heading back to Florida and port. I couldn’t be alone with you, hell I couldn’t even fathom how to find you. There was no excuse for us to be together. I started thinking I’d never see you again. I cried myself to sleep that night. It was the first time in a long time I had cried into my pillow over a guy, unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the last.

Our last day on the boat I got up early, ran on the track around the boat and settled into a comfy lounge chair by one of the pools. I didn’t have to find you, you found me. You came to me at the pool bar, “give me your phone”, I did. You put your number in it, “call me”. Call me. Like I’m some teenage girl. Call me. The ball was clearly in my court. You ordered two drinks, I knew then Madison was with you, and disappeared. I stood there, staring at my phone, at the number, contemplating not hitting save. Instead, I hit the message button. “This is Lana. Now you have my number too.” I hit send, but not save. I spent the day on my chair, constantly checking my phone. No response. No message. Robert came and sat with me for a bit, he was drinking beer that afternoon, a sign that maybe tonight wouldn’t be a disaster. He and I swam and laughed and for a moment had the time on the boat I had hoped we’d have. At six Robert suggested we get showered and head to dinner. The sushi restaurant this time. You weren’t there. After dinner I wanted to go back to the cabin to pack, Robert wanted to head to the casino. He and I parted ways. My watch buzzed at 9:27, it was an unknown number, “are you alone, can you get away?” It was you. “Yes”, no hesitation, “meet me at the Solarium Bar in ten minutes.” I found the bar twenty minutes later, I saw you standing at the bar, back turned to the room, chatting up the bartender. I wound my way through the crowd and to your side. There were two drinks in front of you, martinis of some sort, something I don’t drink, you handed me one, “follow me.” The Harmony of the Seas is gigantic. There are nooks and crannies, and seating in all sorts of hidden and out of the way places. You led me to a settee under a canopy looking out over a railing. It was private and it was only for those who had reserved it. I felt a rush, had you planned this ahead of time? Had you arranged this for us? Or had you arranged this for you and Madison, and it fell through, so I was second choice? These were the types of questions I eventually learned to live with. The questions I eventually stopped asking. Truth be told, these were the types of questions I didn’t want to know the answer to.

We sat, side by side, drinks on the table in front of us, a gentle breeze in our hair, the dark waters stretching for miles in front of us. “I’m sorry Lana, I’m sorry for all of this.” “Sorry for what? You didn’t do anything.” “I dragged you into something you don’t deserve. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never cheated on my wife.” The statement hung there; I didn’t know what to say. My mind immediately screamed, “that’s what they all say I bet!” Instead, I said “I haven’t either, all these years, this is a first for me too.” You interlocked your fingers with mine, “I need you to know that I want us to be together. I don’t want this to end. I have never met anyone like you. I need you in my life.” I sighed, you leaned in and kissed me. We made out on that settee like high school seniors on prom night in the back of our parents Buick. I’ll never forget the way your hands felt on my skin, under my blouse, touching my stomach, my sides, my back. Your fingers playing at my spine, massaging my ribs. You mouth and your tongue on my lips, my neck, my chest. I was lost. Completely enamored and begging for more. I needed you.

At midnight I came up for air and made a bad joke about turning into a pumpkin and needing to return to my cabin. You laughed, whispered, “a few more minutes.” At two in the morning we parted ways. I kissed you for what I thought would be the last time. Deep, lasting, rocking my body. I returned to my cabin, you to yours, us to our lives. At six a.m. I departed the boat with Robert, bound for the airport, bound for Boston, bound for eternity, by you.

The Affair

We met on a Tuesday. You had your wife; I had my husband. We were both on vacation. We were all relaxing. But we all had different ideas as to what that meant from our partners. To me it was a chance to recharge and go adventuring. To him it was a chance to drink as much as he could and have sex. To you, it was a chance to fix what was broken. To her, a chance to do something you wanted. All of us had a plan. All of us had a motive. None of us had an answer.

I loved (love) my husband. I loved (love) our life. I mean, we had always been at different ends of the spectrum, we had always been at odds. We had our ups and downs. Who hasn’t been there? Name me one couple in history who hasn’t been married to a person less than perfect. Name me one person who hasn’t had moments of weakness; moments where they wondered, what if? Name me one person who hasn’t considered the possibility. That possibility was you.

The problem with cruises are many, but the biggest issues, as we’ve since learned are seasickness and all you can drink packages. We both found ourselves victims of those. My husband decided to drink his weight in tequila daily and your wife found herself vomiting off the balcony. We were both alone. I think back now and realize maybe we already felt alone. By the time we met I was in my forties, married for the second time and wishing I had just said no to a second rodeo. By the time we met you were in your mid-thirties, jaded, angry, and in a relationship with a woman whom you married because she was pregnant. A woman who lost the baby two weeks after the quick wedding in the Poconos and who has never forgiven you.

The day we met we went on an ATV excursion. Four-wheeling through the jungle outside of Cozumel, Mexico. I wanted to drive. I always want to drive; I always wanted to be in charge. You wanted to drive. I know now, you take charge, you’re a domineering person, but in a subtle way, in a ‘you don’t see him coming sort of a way’. We were the only single people in the group. They made us ride together, promising to switch us at the halfway point so each one of us could drive. We fought about who would drive first. You won. You always won. I always lost. It’s the nature of this whole situation we find ourselves in. I still remember the argument. “Have you ever driven one of these before?” I paused, I wanted to lie, it was right there on my tongue, but I’m a terrible liar, or at I least was, “no” I said, “but I’m a fast-learner and it can’t be that hard.” “It’s not hard, but if you’ve never done it, it can be tricky.” “I’m Thomas by the way, Thomas Hunter.” I remember the way you held your hand out to me, casual, but convincing, sure of yourself. I remember taking your hand in mine and shaking it, “Lana”, I said in reply, “Lana West.” You drove us out, I felt so awkward, not knowing where to put my hands. “Do I grab his waist?”, “do I casually put my hands on his shoulders and play completely non-plussed”, in the end I opted for putting my hands on my hips, casual, cool. It was a mistake. The first of many.

We went first in the group, you gunned the engine, you’d driven on of these things before, I felt myself falling backwards, upended, tilting, I grabbed onto your waist and threw my head into your back to stay on. I felt you flinch as my helmet connected with your spine. I remember how you roared away from the group; you were laughing, you were mocking. Looking back now, I think you were trying to prove something. I think you were trying to scare me. I think you wanted me to feel unsure, to feel afraid. It worked. I held on for dear life. I remember thinking, “he’s going to kill us”. Eventually my fear abated, and I looked up, eventually my grip loosened, and I took in my surroundings, but I kept my hands around your waist, I held on tight, I’m still holding on. When we got to the turn-around point, you got off the Yamaha, stretched, and gave me a sideways glance. It’s a look I know well now. A look that simply says, “well…you’re turn”. I slid forward, putting myself in the driver’s seat. I noticed then how tall you were. At least six feet, maybe taller. Lean, muscular, but not overly so, I had a strange thought then, “I wouldn’t want to get in a bar fight with this guy”. You swung your leg over the four-wheeler, sat behind me and scooted up close, so close. I could feel your legs pressing against mine. I could feel your chest on my back. I remember the way your hands felt on my hips, you had big hands, I’m not a little girl, but your hands covered my sides. Embraced my hip bones. I felt safe. I felt like as long as you were holding on to me, I wouldn’t fall. I could feel your breath on the back of my neck. You leaned forward, “Alright Lana West, take me for a ride”. You reached around me and put your hands on mine, “this is the throttle, ease it forward, do you feel that?” I did. “This is the brake, don’t be afraid to use it, but be gentle”. You returned your hands to my hips. I turned the ATV; the rest of the group had caught up. I eased into the throttle, hastily, tentatively, we jerked forward, I hit the brakes, we jerked to a stop. You laughed at me. “Just do what feels natural Lana, don’t force it”. I eased onto the throttle again, I felt the machine move, I let it go this time and away we went. The trail wasn’t difficult. A few twists and turns, a few bumps here and there, but mostly it was just a wide trail through the woods. I let myself go and pushed the four-wheeler as fast as you had on the way out. My eyes were watering from the wind, despite my sunglasses. My heart was racing. I felt alive for the first time in years. I felt daring. I felt untethered.

We returned to the boat after the excursion. You shook my hand again, saying, “it was wonderful to meet you Lana West” and walked away. I went back to the room to shower. Robert was nowhere to be found. His wet swim trunks were on the bathroom floor, discarded and in a heap. There was vomit on the back of the toilet. I thought about going to find him. I thought about the fight that would ensue. Instead, I cleaned up the bathroom and undressed to shower. Tonight was supposed to be the Captain’s dinner. Robert and I were supposed to get dressed up and paint the town. We had reservations for the late seating. I had bought a new dress, having recently lost about thirty pounds, I had found a pretty Michael Kors number on sale at the local department store. It made me feel glamorous. Like maybe I was finally living up to my namesake Lana Turner. I did my hair and my makeup, taking special care on both. Something I hadn’t done in a while. I stood at the door of the cabin, staring at the handle, willing myself to walk out it alone. Willing myself to attend a dinner, that would be filled with happy couples, newlyweds on their honeymoon, octogenarians celebrating their 60^th wedding anniversary, and here I was, single, but not single, alone when I shouldn’t be. I opened the door and stepped into the narrow hallway.

I walked into the ballroom; I had never been on a cruise like this. The opulence overwhelmed me. Everything was so gilded and shiny, crystal and mirrors and flowers at every glance, it was like Vegas if Vegas had been decorated by one of those women from the Real Housewives of New Jersey. I was about to turn around and head back to my cabin when I felt a hand on my lower back. I thought, “Robert?” I was in mid-turn when you leaned in close and whispered into my ear, “Lana West, we meet again and you my dear look absolutely stunning”. My heart fluttered. I think I flinched but I didn’t pull away. I had never been called stunning before. “Shall we?” I let you escort me to your table, hand on my back, steering me in whatever direction you saw fit. You pulled out my chair and then instead of sitting you disappeared. When you returned you had my name card, I still to this day don’t know how you found it or how long you looked for it. You casually removed a name card that said Madison Hunter and replaced it with mine. And just like that, I was yours. We were seated with four other couples. Newlyweds, as promised, I can’t remember their names. She giggled too much, and he swooned too much. An elderly couple from Houston, Dottie and Frank, who were celebrating their 54^th wedding anniversary. He was a retired cattle rancher and she was a retired school teacher. Their accents made us all laugh. He called me ma’am and you son. There was the recently, just started dating gay couple, Simon and Danny, they were from New York City and both trying to make it on Broadway. They had both had bit parts in the chorus of a few shows, but none of which I was familiar with. They both liked to use the expression, “as if…” and then laugh boisterously after they said it. The final couple was just like us. A married couple from nowhere Florida, on a vacation, just enjoying each other’s company and celebrating being alive. You carried the table. I learned more about you in that night than I think I learned in all the years following. You were a contractor, ran your own business now, but started in the trenches. You had dropped out of high school in the 12^th grade when your mom got sick and worked two jobs to help pay for chemo that wouldn’t save her. You started working nights on road crews for the Ohio Department of Transportation. You found you had a knack for building things and designing. You were a problem-solver by nature and soon the foreman took notice of you. You were promoted, you went back to school, you got a GED and then an associate degree in accounting. You kept working, odd jobs during the day, building things for people, mowing lawns, doing landscaping, you worked nights on the road, your mom died. You moved to Georgia when a friend suggested you guys start a construction company together. He had gotten a tip about a development in the works, nothing official and no companies had bid on it. He figured a fledgling company could underbid the bigger the companies in the Atlanta area and make bank eventually. You sold everything you owned, moved to Atlanta the next week and the rest is history. You were a risk-taker. A self-made man. I was impressed. I barely said two words all night. You made up stories for me. I wasn’t your wife; your wife and my husband were sick in bed. Motion-sickness had gotten the better of them, but we were all old friends, we had come on this trip together, you and Robert were high school friends from Ohio, and this was supposed to be a getaway ten years at least in the making. I was a school teacher, elementary, fifth grade to be exact. Not even close. I was a writer or fancied myself as one at least. I worked as an editor at a publishing house in Boston. Per you, Robert was an investment banker. Closer, he was an accountant at H and R Block. Your wife, Madison, was an out of work interior designer, or at least that’s what she put on her resume. By day she walked dogs, by night she took care of the house. Truth be told, I had never even been to Ohio, but I let you go. I let you spin the tale and I just listened and nodded. I think now maybe I should have been concerned with how easily you lied. Maybe I should have questioned how quickly you answered, never pausing, never doubting, just weaving an intricate web of lies and mistruths into a convincing and compelling story. I think at one point I even started believing you. When Frank asked me what my favorite part about teaching fifth grade was, I replied, without hesitation, “writing, I love giving the kids a prompt and seeing where they take it, they always surprise me”. I was completely enamored with this story. I was all in. I was having fun.

I drank too much that night. We all did. We were having a good time with you at the helm. When the Captain came over to meet us you asked him if he’d dance with me. He agreed and before I could protest, I was off my feet and on the dance floor. I was awkward in strappy high heels I wasn’t used to wearing. I was awkward to begin with. The song was some Celine Dion tune, it was halfway over when we started. As the song was ending you came over, you looked almost sultry as you walked across the floor. I could see you over the Captain’s shoulder. We made eye contact. You never looked away, it made me uncomfortable but I couldn’t drop my gaze. I couldn’t stop watching you. You looked so handsome in your tuxedo. So, put together. You walked with a purpose, and with swagger, sauntering, slowly making your way to me. I remember your blonde hair, tousled, falling over one eye, unkempt, and sexy and carefree, but calculated. Your eyes were piercing blue. Like the waters off the coast of North Carolina where I had spent my summers, all tumult and churning, dangerous, but inviting. You placed your hand on the Captain’s shoulder, “mind if I cut in?” He handed me off, not letting go of me all at once, but actually giving me to you, putting my hand in yours, passing me off to the man he assumed was my husband. “So, Lana West, how are you enjoying your cruise thus far?” The song that came on next was Fly Me to the Moon by Frank Sinatra. Romantic, but quick in tempo, it’s not a slow dance and I am not a dancer. I retreated, pulled away, turned to run. You put your hand in mine, wrapped your other around my waist and whispered, “just trust me and follow me”. I did.

I woke up the next day, a bit hungover, a bit punch-drunk from the evening before. At some point Robert had come home. I wasn’t sure if he was there when I got home, or if he came home after I fell asleep (passed out). I got up at dawn, I always do, he was still sleeping when I went down for breakfast. I didn’t see you that day. I looked for you. Searched for you is more like it. I was floored that on a ship, even a ship as large as the Harmony of the Seas, that I couldn’t find you. That you weren’t, somewhere. Robert and I had no excursions planned for that day. We had made port in Honduras, I wanted to explore it, I’d never been, but Robert didn’t want to visit a third-world country, it would be a waste of a perfectly good day on an amazing boat, so he decided that we’d stay onboard. After breakfast I went back to the cabin and changed into my suit and spent my day by the pool. I imagined you off on some exciting adventure in Roatan. And I admit, I felt a twinge of jealousy when I imagined Madison beside you, riding shotgun in a rented jeep, top down, laughing and resting her hand on your leg. Robert actually showed up for lunch that day. We ate poolside. He was pleasant, chatty even and somewhat apologetic. “Work was hectic. He just needed to unwind. Yada, yada, yada.” He was excited for the Captain’s dinner that night. He was actually pissed at me when I told him it had been the night before. Somehow it was my fault, I had told him the wrong date. “Why the fuck did I even bother renting a tux then?” “Why didn’t you fucking tell me?” I knew he’d been drinking again. His use of the word “fuck” increased exponentially with every drink he took. It was like an art almost. One or two drinks, things were “fucking amazing” or “fucking cool”. Four or five drinks things became, “holy fuck-all fucking amazing” or “fucking fuck-all beyond belief”. After about seven or eight drinks things just became “can you fucking believe that fucking shit, I mean, fuck, it was fucking crazy”. He was the only person I knew that could use the word fuck as a verb, noun, adjective, adverb, preposition, all in one sentence. I mean, fuck, I think he could figure out how to make it a conjunction if he was feeling particularly inventive. He was the master of the word and it was a great indicator of how my night was going to go. That night we hit the conjunction phase early and I found myself eating dinner alone at a quiet table in a café off one of the pools. I watched people wake board on a man-made wave and I wondered where you were.

The next day we were back in Mexico and there was a snorkeling/scuba excursion to a turtle cove. I got in line for the catamaran and there you were, five people in front of me. Alone. This time I decided to surprise you. As I boarded the boat, I saw you heading for the front. I made my way through the crowd and put my hand on your waist, “Thomas Hunter, we meet again” and I laughed. I was surprised by my boldness, what if your wife had been there? I had never met her or seen her; I didn’t know what she looked like. I had assumed you were alone, but what if you weren’t? I had imagined her though. Tall, thin but curvy, big boobs, large blonde hair, bangs. I hate how detailed my vision had become. I pictured her as this sexy, voluptuous woman with big hair and a bigger personality. A woman who could handle you. A woman who could put you in your place. A woman who held her own, even if her hair was straight out of the early 90s. I didn’t see any women that met that description, so I felt fairly confident she wasn’t with you. You didn’t turn around to greet me. You didn’t even flinch at my touch. It was like you were expecting me, “Lana West, I was hoping I’d see you today, I’ve been thinking about you”.  You reached down, took the hand I had placed on your hip, held it and led me to the front of the boat. We sat, side by side, on the bow. Not speaking, just watching the waves. Our arms were touching, we sat like we belonged, we sat like we were together. We were. Together.

We arrived about forty minutes later at a place called Turtle Cove, we had both been here before, we had both seen turtles and knew what a “turtle cove” meant. It was a tourist attraction. There was a turtle cove at every island we had ever visited. It turns out we were both avid divers, but our partners were not. Not even certified, let alone avid. We spent our lives settling for snorkeling when we wanted to be 75 feet under. We always compromised and stayed on the surface when our hearts were begging to be deeper. The snorkelers got off first. Dropped near the shore, told to stay between the buoys. The divers were ferried further out and around the point, there was a reef there and a wreck in deeper water for the braver in the group. We spent an hour, together exploring the reef, the wreck, and the wall that seemed to drop into infinity beyond it. When the dive was over, and the snorkelers had been wrangled we all boarded the cat for a lunch on another island. Lunch was a buffet style affair. At least one hundred people standing in line for wilted salad and supposedly fresh fish. You took my hand, led me away from the line and onto a path in the woods. “Are you hungry?”, “not really”, “good, then follow me”. We walked in silence along the path. The sand soft on our feet, the woods alive with singing insects, after about ten minutes we emerged on a secluded beach. It was the ocean side of the island. Rocky and angry. The calm of the cove we had been in was gone. The waves were crashing, the ground hurt as I walked along it. I wished I had worn shoes. “Have you been here before?”, “no”, I was so curious, “then how did you know this was here?”, “I didn’t, I took a chance”. We turned left, hand in hand we made our way along the rocky beach to a spot where the forest met the beach and the rocks ended and the sand was soft. We sat down. Well you sat down, I stood there for a minute, until you pulled me into your lap.

There is a moment
when the world is still
and the hour is late
and the cicadas are singing
and the tree frogs are still beckoning
and the dark embraces me
that I hear you.

There is a time
as the night falls slowly
and the breeze blows gently
hot upon my wet skin
that I still feel you
and I wonder,
do you still feel me?

There is a fleeting thought
that maybe you’re somewhere
and you hear a song
or you see a wave cresting
and you think of me
and you remember
and I’m not so far away.

There is a hope
that I am not forgotten
and that I am not in vain
and that in some random thought
as I write to you
that you feel this,
that you see this.

There is a wish
that will never be granted
a dream that will never be real
a voice that says,
you’ve come too far,
you’ve come too long,
there is too much space.

There is a you.
There is a me.
There was an us.
We are worlds and anger apart,
the hurt and the pride are too strong.
But as I go to bed,
I whisper your name.

And I hope that one day,
the tide will bring you home.

Don’t forget that just because I am strong,
I am still vulnerable.

Don’t forget that just because I always have the answer,
I don’t constantly question myself.

Don’t forget that as I build you up,
I am being torn down.

Don’t forget that behind this façade and brave face
there is a woman who has doubts and fears.

Don’t forget that this woman who thinks flowers are silly and just die,
is a girl who wishes someone would bring her flowers for no reason.

Don’t forget that my intellect and my wit, which you say you love
are really my defense against a world that frightens me.

Don’t forget that for as much as I love and laugh
I also cry and hide and rage.

Don’t forget that for every selfie I take and every celebration I post
I’m really just looking for acceptance.

Don’t forget that for everything I do and everything I become
I still long to hear that you’re proud of me.

Don’t forget to tell me good morning,
it gives me hope for the new day.

Don’t forget to tell me good night,
it gives me peace of mind.

Don’t forget to tell me you love me,
it reminds me I will be ok.

Don’t forget the me hiding inside the me you’ve come to know.
Don’t forget me.