I am always right.
I told her that she would forget me,
That after a while, I would fade into oblivion.
She protested,
Said that I was wrong,
Said that I could never be forgotten.
My image would never become a blur,
My voice would never be a hushed echo,
The warmth of my body pressed against hers would never be cooled.

My soft blonde hair would not age to straw,
My full lips would not crack and thin,
My tight skin stretched over lean tissue would not sag,
My incessant chatter of humorous things would not dwindle.

But that was then.

It had been years since we last met,
When I received the letter,
And the only memories I had of her were excessive eyebrow pencil,
A laugh choked by morning haze,
And the smell of perfume as distinct as my cologne in the cosmetic shop.

I entertained the idea of reading it,
But I chose to burn it instead,
To not respond,
And my memory of her blew away with the ashes.

I told her that she would forget me,
That after a while, I would fade into oblivion.
And with the passage of time she did,
Because it is a wonderful fact that
I am always right.