A quiet promise, a subtle weight. The keeper of details, of moments slipping through cracks in time. A whisper of names you misplaced, the birthdays you meant to call on, the look in someone's eyes when they thought you weren't watching.
It’s not a burden, not quite—more like a thread running through conversations, tying together the past and present in ways no one else notices. You forget, but I hold on. And maybe, just maybe, one day, you’ll remember too.
