The Bodily Archives

I passed by the chocolate store

where we locked eyes for the first time.

You wore the same roughened leather jacket,

and I, the same red ballet shoes.

.

The edifice of memory set in motion,

I know this for a fact—

the body remembers what the heart wants to forget.

.

Goosebumps rise across my skin,

leaves rattle, time moves backward and I

am sixteen again with sweaty palms and throat clenched shut.

A shiver, and it's all gone.

.

You laugh with the cashier

the same way you teased me, browsing through

bonbons, and bite-sized portions of happiness.

Revived joy threading through my veins.

.

The edifice of memory set in motion,

I know this for a fact—

the body remembers what the mind tends to forget.

.

They say, you never forget your first love,

but I hardly recall your name.

Yet, I still feel the prickling of your touch,

electrified pulses aching on my skin.

.

For a moment, you turn,

my chest collapses in slow motion,

and I realize: that girl in me is still waiting

for you to notice her.

.

The edifice of memory set in motion,

I know this for a fact—

the body remembers what the heart wants to forget.

.

It's a blood-thick curse—

this looming corrosion of the mind,

the automation of archiving emotions.

But then, your eyes fall on me again, and I

.

realize it's someone else.

The same old jacket, the identical swagger

that made my heart skip a beat yet again.

I'm not hurt, nor am I sad.

.

I smile at the stranger, before I walk away

now I know this for a fact—

the body remembers what the heart wants to forget.