Smoke and Light

Memories cascade to and fro in the bubbling cauldron of my mind, all stoked onwards and higher in temperature by melody and word sang aloud. Dark nights and hands held appear like light cast against smoke, images of moments of love and togetherness that are never to be again. Gifts given and received are artifacts now; they hold some small history of a time when we were us. Younger versions of ourselves immortalized in recordings that, to me, view like the best of classic film. Words exchanged as free as the wind blows through leaves echo like the cry of a hawk, haunting and beautiful. As the fire of song dies down, and there is no more fuel for my private moment, I let these feelings fade away. Madness is the only outcome, would I allow them stay longer. In the embers I bid you farewell, to be rekindled again soon on another day when I wish to remember who we were and that we loved so purely.

 

Sights and sounds can bring you back to places you’ve long left behind. On mornings like this morning I create these small, private moments for myself. I play a song that reminds me of you. Sometimes I’ll write while I listen, others I just sit and reminisce. I’m sure some people would call this sad. I suppose it is a little bit. But these small moments are all I have anymore. A conversation here and there, coffee even less often, and then this song.

It always brings me back to all those most special moments I hold dear. That night I watched you go off and dance in that dark dance hall. The night we ran off, smoking cigarettes behind some building in the historic district of a forgotten part of town. The night you gave me my birthday gift in my car. The morning I presented the birthday cake I made for you. All those drives to your house, late at night. The morning we drove around, holding hands, recording on my phone just how much we loved each other and always would.

I see those places in my mind every time I hear this song. I look back now and think about how young we were…we were kids. I think about how different things must be in your mind now. I might think you and I are meant to be, but maybe that’s just a mistake. It’s likely I’m just holding on because those memories are so dear to me.

 

I guess, almost seven years later, I’m still not ready to let go.

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