Numbers I can never remember. Dates, prices, heights, weights, anniversaries, appointments. Without my calendar, I’d be a little lost puppy.
Details I can always remember. The way you looked, the way you smiled (or frowned), the way we walked, the way conversation flowed (or didn’t flow). They way you hugged me and lifted me and lifted my spirits. I remember what you said to me when it’s healing, but I also remember what you said to me when it bites and cuts and stings.
I remember that you’re my only friend who doesn’t like chocolate, and so I won’t send you chocolate-covered strawberries now that your baby boy has been born. I remember that you’re my only friend who hates her birthday and so I won’t send you a birthday card.
And, for the record, that forget-my-birthday thing is fine with me, because I don’t remember numbers anyway.