1 minute read
I Remember Everything • • • Kaitlyn Chesleigh
from AmLit Spring 2022
by AmLit
My face is warm. The warmth travels from my restless eyelids down to my chin, my neck, and across my collarbones. Light dances across my skin, unearthing whispers of long-forgotten gentle touches. I shiver.
My body, the birds, and the air are singing I Remember Everything. I remember everything. I remember laughter, lineage,
maps, melodies, scrapbooks, serenades.
I remember you. Your eyes, your smile, your breath, your touch. Are you watching me? I know that you’re not, but I can still feel the weight of your gaze crawling up my arm like an army of ants, whose perpetual parade leaves endless goosebumps in their wake. I imagine you imagining me. Beneath the sun, my eyes sting. The light is so bright it’s almost painful. But I don’t dare open my eyes. Because if I do, I’ll know for sure that you’re not there, admiring me. Your touch is the wind.
Your gaze is just ants. Or maybe, I’ll discover you are watching me, after all. And what then?