Fond Memories

I remember you often and fondly. It’s a little raw when I do, a little forbidden.

Sometimes I remember sitting on your porch stoop talking about Mexico and dying, feeling alive and like running, and the next thing I know I’m remembering how I wonder if you remember and if you wonder.

I remember that day we spent coughing sawdust and the lump in my throat on the floor in the hallway, and I can’t forget your blue shirt blue eyes blue jeans or how I’d yelled it all at the ocean.

I remember sitting by the pool in a tshirt when you walked in in the beginning and your blurry curly hair in the window of the doorway I wouldn’t walk through in the end.

I remember painting a room that wasn’t yours in a house that wasn’t yours when I knew I’d know what it was to be seen but not known.

But I can’t remember the last time I saw you or if when I saw you I knew it was the last time I’d see you, and I can’t remember if you remembered my middle name.

I remember dreaming about bears tonight, and then it was you in a flannel shirt, and it’s still raw, a little forbidden. I remember you fondly, often, and often I’m not fond of it all at all.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/xzt141/this_grief_tastes_disgusting/itygi7t/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/yek9of/playtime/itykbpc/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3