Their story

Wrappers, shiny wrappers
of gifts he'd bought, of the love he'd thought
of candy inside, of their first roller-coaster ride
sweet wrappers, sweet nothings, all wrapped up inside
that she'd banned him from getting.

And she wouldn't have it, she said
she insisted, she insisted
That isn't your money. It's not yours to give
and our memories are gifts enough. for as long as we live.
No letters, no cards. no notes. no presents.
just be with me, and let me be with you
that's present enough, that present is true

he didn't want to. I didn't search, but everywhere I go
things remind me of you, he said
and it wasn't just heart shaped things, or things in red.
things everywhere, they screamed her out to him
stones on sidewalks, christmas candy, wildflowers with a violet rim
and he got them. on impulse. he couldn't leave those things alone
what would they have to remind themselves with, when they were grown?


But she insisted, she insisted
she didn't want that guilt
They agreed, no more gifts. They were being silly
he took some convincing but he agreed mutually
they made memories. spectacular memories, they made together
and preserved together. he felt like nothing could be better
yet everytime he found something that reminded him of her
he couldn't help but think he should get it. but she wouldn't like that, for sure.

they were made for each other. things went by
years went by, their lives went by
and one week was all that it took for everything to change.
she'd lost her memory. A nervous disorder took the blame.
And all those precious memories were lost
and he couldn't get those back for her.
Why, why didn't I get her something? So she'd look at those and remember
everything we've been through. how we've made our lives together
and now I can't show her anything, to trigger off
the memories we built, so the things could lay off.

she smiled. you seem to still have them, she said
you seem to have all those memories etched in your head
and I trust you. I don't even know who you are
but you know what? I trust you. More than anyone else. By far.
Don't buy me anything. I don't like that.
Lets make memories.
I know I sound corny. But they'll last us longer than anything else will
Even though I've lost mine, you can fill me in.

And he told her stories every night.
Under her old bedsheets
How she liked the afro drums. Their distinctive beat.
and how they met, and lived, and her nature, her persona
came to life. Every little thing she'd ever done
and he told her stories, and she told him some new stories
and they made memories. Old memories. New memories. Preserved, together.
He felt like nothing, nothing could be better.