The Rest of Us

When a person is alone in love they forget so much. Or they choose to forget. They choose to forget the negativity in the interactions, the distance in the stares.




We remember the little things, their favorite artists, their favorite books and songs. We try to sprinkle them into the conversation, into the present as much as we can. We want to remind them of the happiness they associate with it. We want them to associate this happiness with us. We look at their faces for a trace of recognition; we want them to acknowledge our efforts in making them happy. But there’s an eerie remoteness that we initially choose to ignore because we’re in love. It is only a few weeks, months, years later that we can look back and see what we chose not to see then.



We loved and they didn’t.

We tried and they didn’t.

We think about it weeks, months, years later.

They don’t.







…People look so different when they’re smiling. They look so different when they’re laughing. They look so different when they’re doing neither of these things.