Remembering. And Forgetting

There will come a moment, when you will no longer know
you; nor me. But that will not matter,
Someday, I will have forgotten you, perhaps; or,
I will choose to be ignorant of you.

There is a time existing between us, and
beyond, which would have us, probably
lost for words, silent. Time would,
probably, have us misleading each other,
telling beautiful lies.

I could perhaps tell you, that when
you are hungover, your eyes have
the brilliance of saffron mixed in white hot anger.
Or that when you are happy, they are the blue
of a lake courting grief. That
you are beautiful.

Someday, after you have forgotten my beautiful lies, maybe, you
will remember me for the too-bitter coffee I made, the
tinkling of the spoon against the mug, as I
pretended I was adding sugar to mine. Or may be, for the day
Mum called you to remind me of my birthday. Someday,
You will forget me with all of these.

Someday, perhaps, I will forget you too.