You

I love you. But you probably don’t know why. In fact, there really isn’t a ‘probably’ about it. I know, for sure, that you don’t know. You can’t. Because every time you close this book, you forget about me. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you forget, because forgetting makes you come back. And when you come back, you read this, and then you remember. You remember me. You remember us. And you remember why you closed this book in the first place.