There's a reason.

There's a reason why she cannot give into the fog of sleep.

There's a reason why she cannot take another's embrace, a reason why her lips are ever pressed into the shape of your name.

Some cannot grasp the concept, some bore with the effort, some cannot handle housing such a thing, but not her.

It can be an abrasive thing, undoubtedly, to harbor the memory of you; but she does.

She remembers you.

It isn't a choice; she is surrounded by the memory of you. The memory of your entrance into her world, the memory of the way you made yourself comfortable within her catastrophe of a heart, the memory of your exodus.

She remembers you.

They say scent provokes memory the most of all five senses. The fact is at the front of her mind when she gets a whiff of your cologne while pushing through her closet in search of a shirt but finding your hoodie instead.

She remembers you.

When she brushes her hair, she remembers the feeling of your fingers pushing stray tendrils out of her face. When she licks her lips, she remembers the taste of your chapstick. When she closes her eyes, she remembers the way your eyelashes rested atop your cheek while you slept.

She remembers you.

Her friends speak of their first dates, although all she can think about is the way you jokingly pretended to forget your wallet, prompting her to pay for dinner. Her friends reminisce about their first kiss. They stay in conversation but the time when your mom bursted through your bedroom door, interrupting the first kiss you shared plagues her mind.

She remembers you.

There is more to remember than the way you would distance yourself in fear of getting close. More to remember than the way you left, breaking her heart and leaving her amongst a group of people who reveled upon her tears. More to remember than how quickly you moved on to another girl.

She will always remember you.

She will always remember the way you made her feel when you'd told her once that you had never loved a woman before, and then hearing that her replacement was the girl who falsified that statement. She will always remember, there is no way to forget such a morose feeling-such a reminder that she was not good enough for you.

She remembers and always will. Will you?

Will you remember the pain that you caused? Will you remember the scars you left and the fear you instilled to love? Will you remember the love?

The way you would hold her hand as you drove, the way you reminded her she had worth when no one else cared to. The way you would whisk her away from her world at home that was inescapable until your efforts.

Will you remember?

The three, ever fear invoking words never left her lips, but the love existed.

She will forever remember the love, but will you remember?

Please, please, she begs you to remember.