Although it hurts me and I didn’t want it to happen, I forgot you.
I forgot how beautiful you were when you woke up.
I forgot about your body floating in prohibited water on a full moon.
The smell of your flower when I happily kissed her and caressed her.
The effect of cold coffee in Mexican roads.
When every morning you used to say “just a little bit longer”.
When we laughed while spitting at each other in the sea.
When touching your belly I felt a son that sometimes we wished for.
Making love with the moon.
When I gave you my chest so you could rest.
When we listened to abstract reggae with our brothers.
When beautiful flowers made us contact with new images, sounds and unknown beings.
When I sparkled your naked body with water so you could sleep.
Forgetting about every flower I left behind your ear.
About knowing that only with you could I walk hand in hand.
When we cooked and it was always better than restaurant food.
When we were naked in a black sand beach.
About baby baths with eucalyptus leafs.
About every time you “sold” my arepidis to new brothers from the walking path.
When a delicious mango forced us to make love on the beach by the waterside.
This I how I forgot about you.
Author: Maggie Chiang