A list of the things you're going to forget when I erase your memory of us: Bus trips that ended in the wrong city, but we didn't care. Meals of crackers and mustard and hot dogs because we couldn't afford takeout. The bottle of Merlot we stole from your office party to continue on your roof. Shivering through the park, but not caring because we knew what was coming next. A sunbeam piercing the curtains as you held me. But here's what you're going to gain: You don't have to watch, support, or even know what happens to me next.