I know too much about you and you know too much about me to ever be strangers.
We are former acquaintances with improper knowledge of each other.
Dangerous liaisons, if you will.
However, time erodes all… Including the knowledge of your touch on my skin.
The moment you became a memory is the minute you became a moment: some funny anecdote I tell my friends over shot glasses of tequila and bottles of vodka.
And as they laugh, I wistfully look away; once again familiarizing my memory with your moments and my skin with your touch. But your moments are foreign and strange, so I laugh too and toast to other familiar moments from current acquaintances.
Stranger things have happened to stranger people. Stranger still, you’re a strange stranger; one who just happens to know the past me.