there’s a lot i’ve not forgotten.
about those star crossed days.
heat rising from asphalt we dance-sat-ran on.
to and away from each other.
beautiful, close and young.
it’s a fine line between remembering and being stuck. recalling and wallowing. recollection and depression.
it’s a line i feel as though i’ve almost-all-the-way mastered the walking of.
i wonder if it’s even possible to all the way master a line like that.
a line like that with a person like you.
everyone looks like someone i know from far away.