I don't want to think of you today. The 20th of May. My very own Memorial Day. My May(be) or May(be) Not Day. Every day is the two year anniversary of something. Every day is a Remembrance Day, it's just that usually we forget what we were supposed to remember.
I don't want to think of you the way you were then, translucent and suffering and scared. I'd like to let that you go. I preferred the many other yous. I choose to remember you sun-kissed. I choose to remember your feet sandy on the beach. I choose to remember how warm your skin was when you wrapped me up in your arms. I choose to remember you when we were still new to one another and everything seemed so full of promise.
I've concluded that one cannot learn to be brave. Either a girl is brave, or she is not. And most days she has to be both. I don't want to remember me how I was two years ago today, either. I don't want to dredge up that frightened, trembling, shattered woman.
Today was just a Saturday. I went for a swim. I worked in the yard. I did laundry. I spent time with someone I care about. I walked my dog. Today was a day like any other. Today was a day when I knew that once upon a time I loved and was loved in return by the handsomest boy I had ever seen, and that when he kissed me I could taste sea salt on his lips.