We sat in the bed of your truck, watching and waiting as the sun went down over the ocean. Your red plaid shirt smelt of Old Spice as it hugged my curves. My shorts were stained with dirt and my legs were muddy along with my feet. But you didn't care. You didn’t care how disgusting I looked. You didn’t care the fact I didn’t want you to hold me as the moonlight crept us into the sky. You didn’t care that this was our last night together. You wanted to be able to remember this night forever. All you wanted to do was show me that no matter what happened tomorrow, you’d never forget. And looking back on it all, I’ll still wonder if you ever truly forgot that moment. My heart broke when I dialed your number and an automated voice came over. All I did was dial your number for the first time in months so I could hear your voice tell me I looked nice that night when we both knew I didn’t. And somehow my mind has leaded me to believe that if we ever talked again, you would say you didn’t remember, couldn’t remember. The Old Spice has left your shirt. The mud was washed off and my shorts were cleaned. And I moved on.