Eight Years of Forgetting You

Dear Lovely,

A sharp taste of melancholy and nostalgia burns my throat

as I remember broken swingsets on pristine lawns.

Every time I hear the voice of our friendship,

I remember the serenity of gazing up at starless nights from rusted park benches:

a subtle whisper so as not to disturb the sleeping world.

Pictures of us smiling on the good days,

and I remember the sharp contrast of mixed iced tea and lemonade

on a hundred degree summer day.

Laughter bubbles up from the core

of who we were together.

Maybe you’ve forgotten the enthralling nature of our childhood simplicities.

Forgotten what it was like to bake cakes out of sandcastles

and play army on grounds not yet laiden with our skeletons

which appeared later

when we finally cleaned out our closets.

Have you forgotten that happiness looks like

the candle that refuses to burn out in the darkness?

Forgotten that even though it comes in waves,

your smile will always be worth more than the pool of tears

that you’re trying to trade.

Truly forgotten that apologies don’t come in the form

of heart-shaped cookies?

Have you forgotten the brown sugar, again?

I can’t imagine you’ve forgotten the bittersweet simplicity

of wanting to grow up.

Grow up better than who we were suppose to be.

I guess I'm not surprised you've forgotten;

it was always your strong suit.

After all,

reminding you had always been my job.

Forever yours,

Darling