Forgotten

He doesn’t remember that I snuck out at 4am, after fucking me perversely and mercilessly whilst we feasted upon one another’s lips, and he certainly doesn’t remember me waking the dead when I slammed his front door and ran off in tears.  
 
He doesn’t remember chasing me like I chased him, like we were a pair of starving vampires seeking to feed upon one another’s flesh, time & time again during the twilight hours.
 
He doesn’t remember the letters I wrote him, and he doesn’t remember sending me that valentines card to my workplace, in which all my work colleagues assumed their right to tease me about the fact that he mentioned how others couldn’t keep their hands off of me.
 
Assuming that I belonged to him, and I did; make no mistake about that.  
 
He doesn’t remember how we dissolved in one another’s arms, or how he used me to release his demons whilst my legs were draped over his shoulders, and he certainly doesn’t remember fucking my tight little arse, and getting his cock stuck in there because he was the only one ever to go there.  
 
He doesn’t remember because he’s fucked that many women, and how could I possibly have ever competed with them when his mind is filled with so many others but I digress, it’s time to accept that and move forward instead of looking back at things that never truly wanted or loved me for me, in the first place.  
 
He just doesn’t remember me, or the songs I played over the radio nor does he remember my kisses, or my perfume that would’ve lingered in his sheets for days after I left during one of our encounters.  
 
I’m the forgotten one.
 
And, I guess that’s OK because I’ve learnt that being alone is tantamount to me being independent & stable; emotionally, financially and psychologically.  
 
Evidently, I lose my mojo when I allow the energy of another to mingle with mine because I absorb theirs. Empaths, rarely maintain their composure when that happens.  
 
I can no longer afford to spend my days miserably depressed and pining for a man that doesn’t even remember me, it’s just not sustainable, from a mind, body and soul perspective.
 
I won’t do that.  
 
I need presence, warmth, companionship, love, loyalty and care; someone to kiss, behold and hold me firmly beneath the weight of him whilst whispering into my ears the right words to soothe my fears, someone who never stops touching me, talking to me or thinking about me; even when I’m not in his presence.  
 
Is that too much to ask ?