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i do not remember times.

i do not remember the dates.

i do not remember all the logical details.

but i do remember it.



i remember his hands,

on my legs.

i remember his mouth,

on my skin.

i remember his words,

tearing my soul into pieces.



i do not remember his age.

i do not remember he full name.

and i do not remember how it started.

but i do remember the worst.



i remember the places he took me.

i remember the things he said to me.

i remember the smell that he left in my room.

i remember the darkness.



i do not know how we met.

and i cannot say how he gained the advantage.

i do not remember when he left.

or if he really left at all.



but i do remember the blackberries.

i remember the pink lipstick all over.

i remember the feeling of his hands on my wrists.

and the roughness of his lips.



i do not remember the times.

and i do not remember the dates.

but i do remember this:



that it was real.