Page 70 of A Coffee Away

A fluttery feeling filled my chest as I opened it. It was full of poems, and a bookmark from a random coffee shop marked one: “I Forgot to Remember.”

I forgot to remember your skin against mine,

the huskiness of your voice as we touched

the one that made my legs tremble

and my soul come alive.

I forgot to remember your sun‑kissed skin,

your calloused hands rough on my chest

yet tender as they traveled

every inch of my being.

I forgot to remember your messy black hair,

how the wind played with it,

your dimples when you smiled,

your full lips kissing me back.

I forgot to remember us. You and I,

drunk on caresses and soft moans,

living in a world built only for us,

one that shattered in the blink of an eye.

A tear dropped onto the page. Then another.

That last memory flashed through my mind. Of that day at the beach. I couldn’t see a face but that dimpled smile. That, I could never forget.

“Another one,” Lydia said.

She’d been in charge of my physical therapy since I woke up, and she was a dear.

I held on to the parallel bars and took another step. The numbness had lessened, and I was walking better. Faster.

“Perfect, Robbie. That’s all for today. See you tomorrow?”

I raised an eyebrow. “As if I had a choice.”

She chuckled.

One month since I came out of the coma, and I still couldn’t walk without help. I grabbed my cane and made my way to the exit. Dad was already holding the door open for me.

“How was it today?”

He’d been by my side from day one, making sure I had all the help I needed to regain a certain degree of normalcy in my life. I would have never thought this possible. It was a pity it took an accident and three months of a coma for my father to care about me.

“Good, I guess. Physically, I’m getting better, but here…” I tapped my temple. “Still nothing.”

Dad covered my shoulder. “I told you before, you didn’t miss much. You were doing what you normally do, painting, visiting the beach…your usual routine. You can rest easy. Don’t force yourself.”