For half an hour every few months, I could be someone. I don't think you realised that, but sitting in the corridor waiting for you made me feel accepted. You would come. And even though I had to wait, several times, you always did. You didn't let me down.
I was lulled into a false sense of security. You told me you'd be there. And yes, you were. You were brilliant. I let you down, but you didn't realise it. By that point, you had too much going on in your head; it was overcrowded. I'd become a number long ago. If only I'd realised that before the last time we met.
We'd been close. We had to be; you weren't allowed to let me slip through the net. I watched you carefully to see if you treated me differently from the others. You did, but only a little. Nothing that anyone else could see.
I won't be left as debris in the river of your memory. I won't even be a pebble on its bank. You will wash me away, put me down as a mistake. I never should have happened. You did the best you could, in the circumstances. Which is why, in two years' time, you will not remember me at all.
But I'll remember you. Forever.