A poem by Kristina Kugaevskaya


Kristina Kugaevskaya, Editor-in-Chief

I hope your mother calls the new girl by my name.

I hope a client shares my face.

Or a lady at the register calls you “babe”,

Like I used to say.

I hope I am in every street you pass,

Or my scent is on a random stranger,

Reminding you of all the times we’ve had.

How you’ve moved on,

Yet can’t help but remember.

I want to be trapped in your mind,

Your dreams, the food you make.

I want you to think of me

Incessantly, harder than a falling star.

I want to stain your existence,

Like a bruise you can’t help but rub.

I hope that even when you settle down

Wife and little children running in your backyard,

You still find reasons to recall me

To suffer from my memory.

I am not in love with you no more,

And never again will be,

But I never want you

To stop thinking about me.