you emerge from the memories in your black bathing suit, holding a pomegranate over your pale stomach. your dark hair is even darker when wet, it parts itself into clumps, you said the sea salt bothers you when it dries.
the afternoon sun makes your warm brown eyes gleam honeyedly, in joy, in content, but i can tell when you sneak a drop of vengeance over your shining lips.
i don't know you anymore, but i could count your moles for days on end without you even knowing that i'm there.
this isn't about you, though. you're not here as of now. i met you in late spring and you stayed in late spring, a preteen, a child. the fault stays all mine, i know. i'm the one who grew up too soon.
this isn't about you, it's about frankie falling and getting hurt in our shared summer, when she was too little to know to watch where she was going. this is about begging my parents to let claire stay over at our house, even though her family had their own rented place then, and my great grandmother's house was too little for all of us to fit. this is about crying in rage and throwing my headphones, this is about an angry summer and a lonely winter, this is about a stressed spring and an autumn i skipped over.
this isn't about you, it's about me, but there's something so enchanting about remembering you existed.
YOU ARE READING
skullcrusher
Poetrythe only things i dare to know. © all rights reserved juno / summertwine
