Remember Me

Remember me.

Not the version of me everyone knows. Not my name, or my face, or the things you could remember simply because you saw them enough times.

Remember the things you had to pay attention to know.

Remember what makes me laugh. Remember the things I pretend don’t bother me but somehow always do. Remember the stories I told you more than once because I forgot I had already told you, and the ones I only told you once because saying them once was difficult enough. Remember the things that make me excited, the things that make me quiet, the things I care about more than I know how to explain.

Remember something small.

Something so insignificant that I would be surprised you kept it.

I think that’s what I’ve wanted from you all along. Not to occupy your thoughts. Not to be someone you constantly miss. Not to become some permanent presence following you through your life.

I just wanted to know that while I was there, you were paying attention.

That while I was learning you, somewhere along the way, you were learning me too.

Because I learned you.

I learned you without realizing I was doing it. Little things attached themselves to my memory until knowing you became almost instinctive. Sometimes something happens and I already know what you would say. Sometimes I see something and think of you before I even understand the connection.

There are ordinary things in this world that somehow belong a little bit to you now, simply because I knew you.

And maybe that is why I want so badly to know that there are things in your world that belong a little bit to me.

I want to cross your mind when I’m nowhere near you.

I want you to see something ridiculous and think, he would laugh at this.

I want you to hear a song and remember something I once said.

I want you to drink coffee and, every once in a while, remember there was someone who cared far too much about which one you were drinking.

I want you to stand somewhere before a race, surrounded by people and noise, and for one small second remember the person who always believed you could do it.

Not because I need you to miss me.

I think that’s important.

I don’t want my absence to hurt you just so I can know that I mattered.

I just want to have mattered enough to remain.

Because sometimes I am scared that if I stop reaching for you, eventually there will be nothing left of me on your side. The conversations will become old conversations. The memories will become blurry. Life will fill the spaces where I used to be, and one day you’ll realize you haven’t thought about me in a very long time.

Maybe that’s simply what happens to people.

But God, I hope you remember me.

Because I remember you.

I remember things you probably don’t know I remember. Things you said without importance that became important because they were yours. Expressions on your face. Moments when you were excited. Moments when something was clearly sitting behind your eyes even if you didn’t say it. Things you wanted. Things you were afraid of. Things that made you laugh.

I kept pieces of you without ever deciding to keep them.

And sometimes I wonder whether you kept any pieces of me.

Maybe you did.

Maybe somewhere inside you there are little memories of me that I will never know exist. Maybe something has already made you think of me when I wasn’t there, and then the moment passed and you never thought to tell me.

I hope so.

There is something beautiful about thinking that maybe I’ve crossed your mind without ever knowing I was there.

But if one day there is distance between us, real distance, the kind that life sometimes creates between people who once knew each other closely, please don’t remember me only as someone you used to know.

Remember that I cared.

Remember that when I asked how you were doing, I wanted the real answer.

Remember that when I showed up, I wanted to be there.

Remember that when I believed in you, I meant it.

Remember that there was a person in your life who looked at you and thought you were worth remembering.

And if enough years pass that some of the details disappear, that’s okay. I know memory isn’t a promise we get to make.

Just keep something small.

A run.

A joke.

A song.

A bag of coffee.

Some completely ordinary thing that life can place in front of you when you least expect it.

And when it does, maybe for just a moment, let me exist there again.

You don’t have to come looking for me.

You don’t have to wish things had been different.

You don’t even have to miss me.

Just smile, if you can.

And remember me.