My Love is a Memory

When I was a kid, my grandmother used to swirl whipped cream into my open empty mouth straight from the bottle and I would choke and laugh with all this sweetness filling me up.

You are whipped cream from the bottle.

When I was a kid, I used to lie to my mom and tell her I put sunscreen on and I would burn and crisp and blister, my entire body set on fire in the moment of careless childness.

You are my sunburn.

When I was a kid, my dad used to open up a jar of peanut butter and we would dip our fingers in so that our two imprints formed the shape of a messy sticky heart and we would let our dog lick our hands and we’d laugh and he’d scoop me up into a big bear hug.

You are my peanut butter heart.

When I was a kid, my brother used to let me crawl into bed with him when I was scared of the dark and he would wait to turn the pages of his chapter books so that I could read along and under the weight of all those blankets and all that cold winter air I knew I was safe.

You are pages turned too slowly.

When I was a kid I used to drink orange juice when I was sad because I thought that the soft taste of nectar had to be what sunshine tasted like and

You are sunshine to me you are orange juice.

When I was a kid I used to fall out of trees and show off my scraped knees and bruises like I loved those contusions but you are not those wounds to me

You are the band aids that patched me up

When I was  kid the first words I ever learned to write were I love you

When I was a kid the first words I ever learned to write were I love you

You.

I love you.