I knew it would be you, I knew it. In passing, I heard someone say your name, I found out what you did, where you worked. I just couldn't help it; I found myself at your office door before I ever realized I was moving my feet to get there. I traced your name on the door, my finger following the curve of the "G," the tip of the "A." But then I got to your last name and hesitated. Was it really Adler, or was it something else? I hated so much that my memory started to slip that I started to turn away, but I knew if I didn't walk through that doorway, I would regret it forever.

When I walked in, you asked me if I was here for the job. Not exactly the kind of welcome I expected, but at that point, I'd take anything I could get. Slowly, I nodded my head. You didn't remember me, at least you didn't seem to. I knew it was possible, but I didn't want to believe it could be true. I never forgot you.

You asked me questions, I gave you generic answers, answers spoken countless times before by countless people looking for a job. How many people before me gave the same answers I had? Maybe they put their own little spin on them, but they had to be similar to the words that fell out of my mouth. And somehow you picked me.

It's so hard for me to walk through that door every day, with everything I have to carry on my back. I never did give you a reason for walking out all those years ago, I'm so sorry.

I loved you, I still do, please know that. You may not think that I do, but Stan, the others I claimed I love, they are just attempts to get over you. But now I realize that it's hopeless; I love you. I still long for those nights when we would whisper to each other about our future, how we would grow up and be successful and if anything would go wrong, we would always have each other. The mornings when I woke up to find you in my arms, just as I had left you the night before. Kissing by candlelight as we spent days at home. It was all a dream.

But then I realized how real this was.

I have loved before. Everything would always seem perfect, I never thought anything could go wrong. And when I least expect it, one of two things happened: they left me out of the blue, or my mother would tell me to pack my bags, we had to move again.

I have loved before, but never like I love you.

You told me you would be home late that night. It gave me time to think on our relationship. And once again, everything was perfect; in my mind, nothing could go wrong. I was no longer tied to my mother, she no longer had control of me, I no longer had to pack up and leave at the drop of a hat. So I was immediately convinced that you were to leave me soon, if not tonight.

And in my twisted way of thinking, that meant I had to leave first, to keep my image of you the way it had been since the day I met you.

It didn't work out like I planned.

You came home before I had a chance to go. I couldn't look at you, I just couldn't, so I settled for those few words, over and over. And then I finally looked in your eyes, I wanted to say goodbye, you have no idea how much I wanted to say goodbye. But when I saw your face, confused, saddened, shocked, a mixture of so many emotions, you rendered me speechless. It took all I had to kiss your cheek, so delicately it was almost as if I hadn't done it at all.

It's me, it's all me. I'm sorry, Gracie, I'm so sorry. It's all me.

I left my scarf on your coffee table. Yours, no longer ours. I left it so that if I ever wanted to come back, I would have a reason to. I wanted to come back, I've always wanted to come back. I just didn't know if you wanted me back.

Would you take me back?

When you walked in today, I didn't need to look up to realize your beauty. I had done that years ago, when I saw you glow in the fluorescent light of the café. You began to take off your coat when I took a glimpse of you. Wearing the scarf. My scarf. Does it still have my scent, is that why you've kept it? Or has that faded away? Does it hold the memories of us I always keep with me? You used to love to bury your face against my chest, whenever I wore it. Do you remember?

I asked you where you had gotten it and watched as you looked down and started to finger it. Hesitant to answer. That's when I knew that you remembered. You remembered all of it. You told me it was something that was just lying around, that you don't know where you got it. I know that's a lie. I can tell the value of this simple piece of fabric holds for you. It's the same value that it holds for me. I could pinpoint the moment you were thinking about the feeling of my arms around your waist, my lips against the nape of your neck, my hair brushing against your skin, my fingers woven with yours.

Once again, I was hit with reality. And once again, I left. It might not have been as dramatic or life changing as last time, but it still hurt me to walk away from you.

Now, late at night, I had the urge to visit that café, where I first met you, where I first felt alive. They turned it into a fast food restaurant. The place I began to feel, where I found meaning in my life, had been reduced to burgers and fries. I started to roam the streets, thinking of you, thinking of what I should do.

You remember me, I know now that you remember me. And I remember you. Even if you don't realize it, I remember you. I love you. I need you. Oh, god, how I need you. I've been living with your picture in my mind for so long, and now that you're here, now that you are so close I could almost touch you, I have to do it. I have to touch you. I need to be able to feel again. I am not myself when I'm not with you.

Which is why I'm standing outside of your door at this moment. I still don't know if I should knock. You could be asleep, you could care less that I'm here to see you. But no, I need to do this. I feel the door against my fist disappear as you open to find me, dressed for sleep. I want to take you in my arms, lay down with you in your bed, stroke your hair and make sure you've fallen asleep.

But I know this will most likely not be a possibility.

"Karen, what are you doing here?" you ask me, your voice weak with exhaustion.

I try to speak, I open my mouth to let the words come out, but I can't.

"Karen," you repeat, concerned.

Finally, I am able to speak, not everything I've been wanting to say to you, but at least I am able to say something.

"I remember you, Gracie."

The silence kills me, it seems like an eternity before you speak again. I look up at you as you smile, lean in, kiss me like you did the first night we met.

And then you whisper.

"I remember you too."