Secret Spaces

If you live long enough in a city, you'll eventually find a bridge to Terabithia. Or at least some form of escape. I was thinking it was about time to leave this place. I've left a lot of memories in here for you. Hmm? Would I miss them?
 

You can't miss something that was never yours.

It's been quiet this week so I've been napping outside in the hammocks with the birds for company. The weather has been beautiful, but at the same time, irksome, making me intensely restless. Maybe because it already feels like summer when it is only March. I caught a whiff of the humid breeze floating through the porch window this evening when I got up to make some tea. Made me think about summers spent lying on the driveway looking for constellations while eating watermelon. Somehow, it all seems very far away. 

There (Where You Are)

Somewhere between these concrete walls, I can see a reflection of the waning moon against the panes of the darkening window. And clutched between my fingers, the letter from the you of another time. Secretly, I recite it every night. Every night of 10 years. Because once upon a time beneath the cherry blossom trees, there was the smell of blood and the sound of breaking bones reverberating inside my head. The unforgettable taste of iron and the gasp of punctured lungs. That must have been where it all began.  A time before I tried grasping at the ghostly lights and tendrils of smoke that still elude me. 

And somehow unintentionally, underneath these eyelids, the memories of you blur, trickle out and disappear.