I hold on tight to the only thing I’ve got:
just that memory in my head.
A tipsy and foggy memory, sure,
but one that transpired nonetheless.
I scratch and pull at the details of it,
disorienting things with my haste.
I’m forgetting things that were there
and including things that were not.
Whatever my brain chooses to fabricate or omit,
and however vigorously it bounces about in my head,
I can never forget how contented I felt next to you
while drifting amongst a sea of unknown faces.
I will continue to wring this memory dry,
and dissect all I possibly can.
All the while hoping our nights collide
so we can do it all over again.