As she talked I made notes to remind myself of what she liked, what she wanted, and some research she wanted me to do on that "internet thingy."

I made notes because I tended to forget. She considered forgetfulness an insult, a lack of respect. I considered it as one of my traits. "I am a lolohead" (dubbed so by the love of my life in a moment of exasperation) I told her. She looked at me with a stern eye and asked "what does that mean?" "It means that I have no brains, basically," I replied. She paused, "yes, you are a lolohead." I smiled and nodded.

It was good to see her and talk to her again, despite her cynicism. She occupies quite a large chapter of my life. We reminisced, talking of my childhood memories. It was good to remember. I hadn't seen her in quite a while - "too long" she said. I didn't know if I would ever see her again. So I desperately tried to hang on to those moments.

Funny, I could remember what happened 25 years ago but I couldn't remember her birthday or favorite flower.

I started to wonder if there was a deeper darker reason to my forgetfulness. Then I just forgot about it. For I am a lolohead.