Something you won't read.

You have four moles on your cheek that look like a constellation who's name I always forget.   
I will remember this. 
You're just tall enough that I have to stand on tip toe when I kiss your cheek.  I think too that I will remember the way you smell after you step of the shower, soft and a little musty.  I hope I don't remember how I feel tonight.

The game is on the flat screened tv behind me; every so often I turn to look at it.  Not because I'm  actually following the action, just because it seems the right thing to do.  I stare across the table, looking through the girl who is busy ticking off great aunts and second cousins on her fingers.  Instead of listening I count; hockey pictures on the wall: four, cigarette butts in her ashtray: six, people at this table:five, people that I know: zero.  I'm comfortable in anonymity.  Being a friend of a friend of a friend suits me just fine, for now. 

It's not until the talk turns to common ground that I start to flinch.  I know the stories by heart.  I know the way the ache rises in the back of my throat and how to push it down again.  Tonight is different.  Tonight they are laughing. 
"-walking in the room and pulling off the blanket...priceless expressions...begged us not to say anything but of course we were gonna give him shit."
She waves her cigarette in a lewd expression, trailing tongues of smoke.  Pinching myself under the table, I look away.

Before I can remember not to think about it I remember another bitterly cold night.  We are in the front seat of your car and I am leaning towards you, trying to avoid the old soda that has leaked through it's paper into the cup holder.  You are asking me what I would do if you told me you love me.  I am panicking in such a wonderful way.  My heart is pounding it into my chest over and over again;
He loves me
BA BOOM.
He loves me
BA BOOM.
To me, that night seemed so real.  Now I try to pinch myself out of it before I remember the next part; The way I skipped through the double doors and up the stairs to my bed where I fell asleep, hugging my pillow and still listening to the tattoo of my heart. 

A pause in the conversation-everyone looks at me expectantly.  Non-committal noises from the back of my throat and they are off again, this time comparing notes on mutually acquainted low-lives. 

I imagine their conversation a year from now.  I can see them nodding as they talk about your new fling, joking among themselves about this crazy girl who seemed to believe that she was worth a change of your heart.  This crazy girl who believed it was worth risking everything.  This crazy girl who no one has heard for in months.  This crazy girl.  But quickly the talk will turn again, and I will be a side-note in your history.  Maybe someday you will tell another curly headed girl how you once were silly enough to imagine a future with me; before quickly assuring her that she is nothing like me at all.

Tonight I sit here and think and remember and try to pretend I'm not wilting inside.  I drag the smoke into my lungs gratefully, relishing the scratch in the back of my throat.  You're somewhere miles away, not worrying about any of this. I try to bed my mind to think of nothing.

Your eyes have little flecks of gold in them that spark when you're feeling particularly devilish.
I will remember this.