I know your favourite hobby—reading.
I know your favourite colour—magenta.
I know your favourite food—Biryani.
I know your favourite perfume—lavender.
I know your favourite movie—Scent of a Woman.
I know your favourite song—Top of the World.
I know your favourite band—The Carpenters.
I know your birthday—22nd April.
I know our wedding anniversary—15th June.
I know our son’s name and birthday—Jo, 24th December.
I know you want me to kiss your neck.
I know you want me to hold you when you are down.
I know you long for our closeness, three times a week.
I know all your favourite things,
all the moments that matter to you,
all the things you want me to remember.
You knew all my favourite things.
You knew the important dates in my life.
You knew my preferences and tastes.
You knew all the moments that mattered to me,
all the things I wanted you to remember.
Now you don’t remember any of those.
You don’t remember our son’s name.
You don’t remember our birthdays or anniversary.
Yet you still know me, and call me by name.
But even that is fading—you sometimes forget my name.
I am saddened to see you struggle to speak it.
I am devastated by the way I am fading from your memory.
I am traumatized by the way everything is slipping away.
I dread the day I will vanish completely.
Now I feed you and bathe you like a child.
I look after you and care for you like an infant.
Whatever happens, I will be here.
I will take care of you as long as I can.
Oh God, return her memory,
return my beloved to me.
I pray for a miracle every day.
Let it happen, and I will ask for nothing else.
