She doesn’t want to forget. But she wonders if she’ll remember her own writing.
“People write song about girls like you.” Is the first thing she writes. She remembers his over confident face, ruined by unfocused eyes and the heavy reek of alcohol that seemed to physically waft around him. She walked away with a smile, shaking her head at his pick-up line. She looked back once and saw his crumpled face, disappointed and dejected, as his friends surrounded him, laughing pointing good naturedly. On impulse she strides back towards him and kisses him, fast and hard, before walking away once more. Laughter and whoops of encouragement from the strangers that would one day become her friends accompanying her walk.
She wonders if her diary will read like a novel. She wonders if she’ll ever really understand how important those first words were for her. If she’ll remember her own misery that night, and how he made her laugh.
She writes carefully, chronicling every moment of their life together. Pen on paper, as physical evidence.
She doesn’t want to forget.