I don't remember how we used to argue several times a day about whatever we could find to form opinions on and snipe at each other like a couple that had been married for 25 years, but I remember how you would stroke my hair and hug me when I was curled up in a ball sucking on pills with black dogs chewing on my serotonin and white doves flying away with my self preservation.
I don't remember how you would turn me down for sex saying you weren't feeling well but I remember how you would smile immediately afterward, cheeky and wicked and cutely deviant, and say that didn't mean you wouldn't give me some loving..
I don't remember that I couldn't make a worthy commitment to you after years of being for your eyes only and you for mine, but I do remember how I could happily lay in bed with you for days and was happier watching shit television at home with you than I was going out anywhere, even to see strippers and smoke rocks.
I don't remember how I thought it was strange that you loved bands who sang almost exclusively about being drug-fucked losers and didn't touch anything of that nature yourself, and how you hated the fact that I was a drug-fucked loser whilst you didn't touch anything of that nature yourself, but I remember realizing later on that half of my favorite bands were inherited from you, despite holding my own aesthetic tastes in obscenely high regard. This was all well beyond irony.
I don't remember how I thought our love wasn't hot enough and that there was something missing, but I do remember, even three years later, that you set a benchmark for any future love I would have and I haven't met anyone who even comes close.
Now my standards seem prohibitively high and I'm always forgetting that
I have a bad memory.