It was spring. The last time I danced here with you.
We’re deep into autumn now. And every leaf I crunch on my walk home reminds me of you. The way you used to jump from the crispest leaf you could find to the next. How your tight fists would release just slightly with each delicate landing and your face, scrunched up in determination would fall into a triumphant smile. The soft blue of the sky and the faint clouds brushed across it make me think of you. How the vivid image was dulled reflecting in your eyes but somehow brighter there. The way the sun warms my face at noon and the water sits still and quiet and the cars stuck in city traffic and the birds flying overhead and the evergreens sprinkled between bare-branched clusters of trees huddling for warmth and the distant sounds of bustling people. Everything brings me back to you. Being here in this park- it was our park once- sends me floating gently along the surface of a stream of sweet nostalgia. A particularly chilly breeze catches my hair and whispers your name into my red tipped ears and I’m absolutely overwhelmed by memories of what a cold-hearted witch you were. Suddenly dumped from the stream I am drowning in a swamp of vinegar and bleach. I’m running but I don’t know that I’ll ever leave. I don’t think that I ever left. Not since the last time I danced here with you. It was spring.
