• Jessica Urlichs

Do You Remember Us?




Late at night we scrape coloured plates, or sink into the couch, I’m unsure when I last said 'I love you' out loud.


Remember the days we never used to check the weather, we wouldn’t prepare for rain and we made impromptu plans with the sun?


Remember the days we weren’t discussing what shade of white we would paint the wall and how to stack the dishwasher wasn’t a reason to call me out.

And it seems a bit silly - doesn’t it?

How the inane became so important.


Remember when kisses weren’t left off the end of text messages, or missed as you walked in the door, where who had it worse wasn’t something I regularly brought up when I was drowning in tired.


Remember when we dreamed of being Mum and Dad? But nobody told us we’d forget about those dreamers for a while. How our voices would change, soft, tense, filled with pride.


Remember how quickly I could turn on you when you sneezed late at night, or how I’d fall into your arms after reading some devastating news article. Promising myself to remember how-good-I-have-it, until you sneeze again, or take a work call the second you walk in the door.


Remember the nights we went to bed at the same time?


But I am forever engraved by our past.

Which is why I can be this waterfall and you will be the rocks that catch me (do we take turns enough?)


It's easier now.

Now that our eyes aren’t torches down the hallway.

Now that we don’t feel like characters in somebody else’s story.

Now that I’ve let you in (although I still don’t know where I start and they begin).

Because it almost hurts to remember anything that came before the love of our lives.


Now the fog has lifted it’s easier, but we still find each other at the sink, or in the mouth of the couch, TV on, scrolling phones.

Because sometimes that’s easier too.

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