A day will come when you may no longer remember the sound of my laugh. Maybe my name will stop waking anything in you and end up as barely a distant echo, a word without a history. And if that moment comes, there will be nothing to claim.
Memory never belongs to us entirely. It has the habit of keeping what it wants and of letting go of what it can no longer hold. It fights for some things and surrenders others.
It is enough for me to think that, for a time, there was someone who looked at you with an intensity that is hard to explain. Someone who found in you a shelter, an inspiration, and a different way of understanding life. Not because you were perfect, but because, from my eyes, the world seemed to take on another meaning when you were near.
And if one day time also decides to erase your memory from me, that will not be a tragedy either. Forgetting does not invalidate what was lived, after all. On the contrary, it is often the last consequence of having felt something with your whole soul.
There are experiences that stop being present in memory, but remain in the way we learned to love, in the decisions we began to make, and in the person we later became. I want to believe that what was lived remains in that invisible place where the truths that no longer need to be proven live.
Because there was an instant when we stopped being uncertainty. We stopped being possibilities, so many attempts or incomplete promises. For a brief moment we simply were; we were a shared reality.
Sometimes a few years hold more life than a whole lifetime. Sharing the road with someone, even for such a short stretch of life, already transforms both of our stories. It changes our language, our habits, the way we look at the world, and even the way we understand absence.
Maybe that is why I think that existing at the same time, finding each other among millions of possible lives, and having walked together is a small form of infinity. Not because time stops, but because there are moments that stop obeying the clock.
Between goodbyes, new beginnings, and memories that inevitably wear down, there is always an untouched corner. A place where nothing needs to be justified. There we are still two people who found each other without fear, who smiled at the same time, and who, even if only for an instant, felt they had found a home in the other. Perhaps life will keep erasing names, faces, and dates. But there are certain truths that no longer depend on memory in order to exist. And that one, precisely that one, will always be one of them.
