Worn Leather Notebooks- A Poem

It’s strange

All that I remember and

All that I don’t.

I found an old treasured notebook

Just yesterday, buried in a box

Like a family member long passed

And I read my own adventures

As if they were another’s novel

As I found that they may as well

In the end

Have happened to someone else.

I didn’t remember with any specificity

Walking in silence through the catacombs

Counting the cobblestones of

The streets of Rome

I didn’t remember the sinful sight delights

Of Amsterdam’s blood red district   

I didn’t remember the food

The drink

The steps taken through Greek history

All I have are little flashes

Ghostlike specters

Of a stranger’s past and false recollection

I don’t, I don’t think, remember anything

Except, of course, for you.

I remember walking somewhere new

The first steps of a scripted adventure

And seeing you from time to time

In the corner of my eye

In the heart of every stranger that beat

And wondering, always wondering

Why you weren’t walking with me

So that we might drink espresso

Smile together, laugh together, and

Listen to beautiful music

As we counted the cobblestones

Just once and one by one

Just for a moment

Together.