I miss the little laugh we shared
last summer over coffee.
I miss the words
your eyes whispered to me
I miss how we held hands.
On the rainy days, our slow dance.
And when the nights were stone-cold
your hands’ warmth atone.
On thinking,
the memories aren’t blithe as they were.
The summer only burns through my skin,
my ears have gone deaf over time,
my hands have gone rough,
rains are dull and slippery,
and nights now, bright and blistering.

I stand where I could never go back.
You aren’t cruel, our little memories are.