I wish I could remember the last thing you ever said to me. I wish I could wrap it up in parchment paper and put it inside a box carved out of wood from the trees that grow in the warm soil along the banks of a river that refuses to meet the sea.

I know we didn't last, but why don't we have anything that we call our 'last'. No last words or promises, no last kisses or hugs, not even a last cup of coffee or smokes that you lit up at the same time with both of our cigarettes in your mouth.

There should have at least been a last butterfly in my stomach or a last tiny goosebump on your skin. We deserve a last time in the shower knocking down the bottles of shampoo and spraying water over the dry area. We could have had a last time in the kitchen with you wiping away the sweat from my forehead as I sliced blood red chillies on a white chopping board.

We could have had a last drink poured over ice cubes in those glasses we bought from that dollar store where things didn't really cost a dollar but much more. I don't even remember the last time you said I love you and actually meant it or the last time I got under the covers with you and came up gasping for air.

Somehow, I only remember the firsts... the first time I saw you standing outside in the sun waiting for me to arrive... the first time you held my hand inside that big white car driving down the roads of a city I haven't been to since... the first time you traced your fingers along the contours of my face and told me I was beautiful... the first time you sang to me, strumming your guitar to the chords of a song that you'd secretly been practising for weeks... the first time you lied... the first time you looked at me with disdain... the first time you clenched your fist and brought it close to my face... the first time you drove off without me in the front seat...

I sit here now with my jagged edges and shallow breaths, wondering why I can't remember the lasts....