Our Meeting in the World of Dementia

It is my memory that will keep you alive in my life,
as days pass by,
stitching each one with embroidered experiences,
Your existence has become one of the cells of my skin.

One day, eventually,
when my black hair loses melanin in generous amounts,
when young yearning traverses through the white wrinkles of old thoughts,
and my eyes fade into careless cataracts —
into oblivion,
into the coral island of dementia,
or the day I fail to breathe your name anymore,
will you make me remember
our first meeting
with your invisible presence
once more?