She kissed him goodbye, knowing he wouldn't remember her tomorrow...not the way she remembered him. Sunlight in his hair, raspy laugh, warm hugs, and the way he used to say her name like it was a secret he liked keeping. Those pieces were hers now, tucked away like pressed flowers between the pages of a book she'd read until her dying day.He blinked up at her, confused but calm, sitting on the edge of the small bed by the window. Every day looked the same here: muted walls, soft footsteps in the hall, a vase of fresh flowers she always replaced before they wilted. He loved the flowers, even if he couldn’t say why. She chose lilies today, which were his favorite once, back when favorites mattered.“I’ll be back in the morning,” she whispered, brushing her thumb over the back of his hand. His skin warmed beneath her touch, familiar, even if his mind no longer was.He frowned a little, searching her face the way a child might search the sky for a shooting star to make a wish upon. “I feel like I know you,” he said quietly, hope trembling in the air like a held breath. “You look like someone important.”She swallowed the ache that rose in her throat. “You do know me,” she answered softly. “Just… not today.”He nodded as if he understood, though she could see he didn’t. The dementia had stolen the meaning behind his own feelings, leaving only instinct. Something in him still leaned toward her, like a flower turning toward the sun without knowing why the light felt good.The clock ticked. A nurse laughed somewhere down the hall. A bird sang outside the window, hopping on the sill like it was checking on them. It was a peaceful place, but peace wasn’t always gentle. Sometimes it was sharp in its stillness, like a reminder of all the noise that used to fill their life.She stood and smoothed the blanket on his lap, a little ritual she clung to. As she reached for her purse, his fingers closed around hers, tentative but deliberate. “Don’t go yet,” he whispered.&nbsp;Her heart cracked in the same place it always did. “Just one more minute,” she said, sitting beside him again.He relaxed, leaning his shoulder against hers. In the dim afternoon light, he looked like the man she used to know. The man who held her as they danced in the kitchen, held her in his arms everynight as they slept... the man who promised her forever without ever imagining forever might look like this.When she finally stood, she leaned down and kissed him softly... once, gently, like a promise she kept making even though it broke her every time. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a.heartbeat she saw it... recognition. Faint and flickering, like a match struck in the dark.“I love you,” he murmured, not knowing why the words felt right.Tears gathered, but she smiled anyway, because the smile was for him, not for her. “I love you, too.”She stepped into the hallway, letting the door latch quietly behind her. She paused, hand on the cool brass knob, listening to the soft hum of the room on the other side. She knew tomorrow he would greet her like a stranger. She would tell him her name, remind him why the flowers mattered, and listen to the same questions asked with the same innocence. And she would answer them with the same love.Because some stories aren’t remembered... they’re rewritten, every day. And she would keep writing theirs, one borrowed page at a time.

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Love Remembers

Bipolarmom03

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Jessica Hensley

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