the cycle of forgettting

I didn't realize how badly
I wanted you around,
until you decided
to describe me
as something that you
constantly remember.
After not spending
over 15 years,
in the home
that nursed my scabbed
knees,
and held my
Sunday dinners,
I could barely remember
what color the walls were.
(how interesting is it
that I remember the short
rose bush
that housed pink roses,
outside in the front of the house)
I thought I would have a
harder time
remembering something
that I thought
I had forgotten.
I thought I had forgotten you.
Love showed me otherwise.
(The roses are still blooming)