The Memory of Me

You had postcards and letters pinned to the walls. I always wondered which ones were from friends and which ones from ex-girlfriends. I'm not usually this insecure. I can't help that I like you.

There's no space for me here. I don't know if you would want to make room for me.

But when you make room for me on your bed, your arms stretch out to invite me in. It always fits so perfectly, my body against yours. You don't even have to ask. You know I'd do that thing you like. You love it when I scratch your balls.

I wonder how much of me you'll remember after I stop coming around. I won't leave a trace of myself behind, I know that for sure. I only hope that the memory of me in your arms is enough to occupy the empty space in your bed.