God, I hope we last. I truly, truly do.
But if some how we don’t, I want you to remember the real me; Not the washed up versions of myself that tried so desperately to cover up who I really am.
I want you to remember me soft and subtle, counting the freckles that dot across your skin. Remember me laughing simply because I could, and how you would laugh along with me. Remember me shaking and trembling, but refusing to tell you why, and how I picked myself up anyways. Remember me honest, like that time when you told me I owed you nothing but in return I told you everything; remember me fragile and gentle and flaccid and raw.
Remember me with nimble fingers and melodic tunes, and how I played that one song just for you, only you. Remember how I was afraid to tell you I loved you, but I made up for it by showing you in different ways. Remember me in songs and love letters that you have not yet received. Remember all of the times that I would look at you when I thought you weren’t looking, and how soft my eyes would get- I could feel them soften. Remember that I am sorry. And when it comes down to it, I want you to remember why you ever loved me to begin with. Remember what you saw behind the exterior and what you made you love me, the real me, because no one knows me like you do.
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