Meadow Memories

A freewrite

The nights are long and cold, but here I am anyway,

white summer dress in the middle of February

a violet cardigan to fight off the chill.

Where are you?

I sit at the single bench in our favorite park, waiting,

watching a dark bush shiver across the empty field,

wondering who else would be out and about at 2 in the morning

Where are you?

I wait with your letter clutched in my hands

as if each ink blue word would transfer

the warmth of your heart to my bare feet.

Where are you?

I only feel pain when the sun starts to rise behind me,

and the rabbits are starting to hop into the meadow.

I imagine what it would be like to fall asleep in the wildflowers.

Where are you?

I begin to imagine you next to me in that grey hoodie

you wore when I saw you the last time we were here,

brown eyes telling me you had to go.

You kissed me goodbye.

You promised you’d seen me soon.

You promised me.

I begin to imagine you never getting in that car,

never getting this damn letter two weeks after you left us.

I was the last to find out.

I imagine a world where the warmth of your heart

was more than just words on the page

and not with you six feet down in a coffin.

Why did you have to go?

I dare myself to read it again. 

It's been two months since I read it the first time, 

but your voice is calling me and this is the only way to hear you.

Author's Note

tell me what you think