Between Bruises and Blooms

You remembered
to miss me

when you were lonely.

You remembered
to apologize

when the damage
was already done.

You remembered
my kindness

when you needed somewhere
to leave your grief.

But you forgot

the promises.

The names.

The nights
I cried alone.

The words
that can never
be unsaid.

Memory

is a funny thing.

Some people

only remember
the version
that forgives them.