By Annie Pham


I donít remember you Ė

I seriously donít.


I canít remember the hundreds of thousands of times,

                I watched as you scribbled away,



                                on the surface of the desk.


I canít recall the undeniably cute expression of concentration

displayed on your perfectly shaped face.


I donít remember, the way you turned to me, asking,

                ďHowís it look?Ē

In that breath-snatching gorgeous voice of yours.


                I canít recall adoring the sound of your voice,

                                While others teased you about it;

                Even teachers amused at the fact of you going through puberty.


Nor do I remember the way I constantly gawked at you.


Memorizing the shape of your face,

                the softness that mustíve coincided with the peachy texture of your skin,

                the curve of your honey-glazed lips.

                that easily brings Adonis to shame.



                I donítÖI canít even recall being lost in the depths of your almond-shaped eyes,

                                those chestnut orbs,

                                                so warm and brown.


No, I canít remember the restless nights, I spent staring up at the ceiling, wondering about

                that passionate,



                That I believe is hidden beneath those alluring orbs of yours.


Honestly, I donít even recall ever gossiping about you with my pals.


                Nor believing that you are my one and only.


No, I canít remember calling myself, Mrs. ***** *********.


                No, I donít remember you,

                                Not at all

                Not one bit.