A speaker, who the title suggests is named Sarah, asks someone a painful question: did you forget what we had? The poem lists small, concrete things, the dried roses, the envelope, the kiss, and then widens out to "our love." These feel like keepsakes, the kind of objects people hold onto when they want proof that something was real.
The speaker seems hurt and unsure. The first question is almost gentle, as if forgetting would be bearable. Then the poem turns on the word "or" and asks something much harsher: maybe it never meant anything to you at all. That second possibility is the real fear. Being forgotten hurts, but being told the love was never real would undo every memory.
The short lines and lack of punctuation make the poem sound halting, like someone struggling to get the words out. The mood is raw, sad, and quietly accusing, and it ends on a question that gets no answer.