scrubbed raze behind the makeup counter at the mall, where i bought red eye shadow when i was young and foolish enough to think i could make myself beautiful. that's where i find you. sitting on the side where the customers stand. talking to the women you work with. you don't look anything like yourself. the hair's all wrong. your pink jacket is too thin. you've painted your face to conceal whatever cruel thing your skin is doing. there's nothing i can name in your smile. i don't know what to say to you. i just say hey. you say it back. we leave together. i can't tell if you even know who i am. "i don't know if i'm a good memory or not," i say. you say it doesn't matter. of course it does. either you remember someone with stars in your eyes, or you don't really remember them at all. you call me "slap". you tell me that was always your name for me. that's when i know it's hopeless. i remember everything. and you never called me that. not once. 230524 what's it to you? who go blather from