birdsong

Your laughter, soft and gentle, tasted like strawberries, eaten on a plaid blanket in a sunlit field.

I felt your sadness as if dipping a finger into the surface of a freezing lake, longing to be its evaporation.

Each inhale of your presence left the lingering scent of cedar wood and lost dreams.

I swear I could hear your smile, like a birdsong in September’s Spring.

And you - you looked like dawn, like new beginnings and fresh hopes and tomorrows. (I have always loved the sunrise.)