Say You'll Remember Me

by Abby Jimenez

This is why I hated humans. They were the worst animals on the planet.

I never get why white men are grumpy. Like, we’re living in a patriarchy. You’re the most privileged class on the face of the earth. You’re not walking to your car with your keys through your fingers like wolverine and you’ve got bodily autonomy, why the bad mood?” “What did he look like?” she asked. “Like if Rhysand from the ACOTAR series were a real person,”

You know how when someone dies, all anyone cares about is how? Somehow the moment that takes them out is more interesting than decades worth of life and accomplishments and living. I hated it.

They say that you won’t remember what someone said, but you’ll always remember how they made you feel.

“That there is nothing more beautiful than being a witness to someone’s life. To know them inside and out and be with them through everything, share the same memories. Memories are everything. I want that.”

The gnawing discontent of the last two months was finally quiet, and all I could think in this moment of relief was that I was kissing my wife.

“Really? When your daddy met you, he wanted to kill you.” Xavier took her from me and laid her on his chest. “Well, to be fair, you didn’t have a butthole, sweetie.”

“Because if you were my wife you would be my world. Everything starts with you and ends with you. Anything else is just the stuff that happens in the middle.”

You think that it’s the big memories you should be chasing—and it is in a way. Birthdays and vacations and special occasions. But the small memories are the fabric of your life, the ones so inconsequential that you don’t even remember them. You just remember how you felt when you were making them.

“Well, if you were a worm, things would change.” “How?” “You would want to do worm things. You would have worm needs.” “So no?” “So I would take care of you,” he said. “I’d learn everything there is to know about worms. I’d become a worm expert. I’d put you in a flowerpot. I’d make sure your soil was warm and you were safe. I’d set you on a windowsill—but not too high, so you wouldn’t be scared.” He started kissing me again. Gentle little pecks around my face. “I wouldn’t know if you still understood me, but I’d talk to you anyway.” Kiss. “I’d play music I know you like and I’d plant flowers for you.” Kiss. “I’d decorate your pot with seashells. I’d never leave you alone. I’d take you with me everywhere. I’d have your lava lamp and a bottle of Murkle’s Mustard where you could see it from your pot—”

I think there are two types of people you fall in love with. The ones who are a good fit. Their lifestyle matches yours, you share the same values and beliefs, you find them attractive and you like spending time with them. It’s good. Great even. You can live your whole life with this person and be madly in love and never want anything different… unless you’ve already met the other type of person you fall in love with. The One. The person who was made just for you. And you only ever get the one.

“Some things are worth remembering, Samantha. No matter how much they hurt.”

“I know. I’ve always loved you,” he said simply. “I think I couldn’t forget you because I remember you from a different lifetime. And I loved you then too.”

“Loneliness in a relationship is the deepest loneliness of all.

Maybe that’s the last thing we forget. Or we never forget it at all. Not really. We lose the words to say it. We lose the ability to show it. But we never lose the ability to feel it or recognize it when we see it. Love is the brightest color in a gray world.