does he even remember?

I thought nothing could ever break this heart more, until I heard him say, when someone mentioned my name— "Who?" God alone knows the weight I carry, wishing he’d remember it all: the garden games, the laughter we shared as kids, him pleading with my mom— "Just one more hour, please." Could he have been my best friend? Maybe more. I try to forget, but here I am, writing about him, while he drifts through my days like a ghost, a name I barely breathe. When he walks by, I look away, but I’m a fool for glancing back every single time. And in that glance, a quiet, fragile hope blooms, that maybe—just maybe— he’ll turn around, look at me, and say— "Hey... do you remember me?"