Reminiscing

I’ll sit with the memories.

They are stagnant, collecting dust.

I thought winter would be the hardest.

The sound and smell of wood-burning fires,

the wind chill, and the heavy hold on you.

Waking up to nothing but silence,

pulling back the bedroom curtains to a blizzard.

I'll sit with the memories.

They've been stagnant, with a blanket of dust.

Summers going to be the hardest.

Days spent swimming,

evenings spent laughing under the fire sky.

Playing games on the blacktop until the bugs swarmed,

nights spent on the roof smoking spliffs and admiring the stars.

The entirety of these coming months

will melt my soul into molten.

I know when I sit by myself on a warm June day,

I'll think of you

until the memories are replaced.