Cinders and Trees

this feeling of nostalgia
pouring over me,
bathing me in memories
of times I’ll never forget,
of moments I’d somehow misplaced,
and emotions I’d like to relive.

Yet we can’t go back.
No one can.

That road has gone,
drifted into ash and cinder,
and this path is the only one that exists.

We can’t go back
because I’ve tried.
I’ve closed my eyes,
clenched them tight
until they burned
behind my lids,
and begged to go back

to that beach
with his hand holding mine,
wished for those lips on my neck
and an imaginary future I’d hoped to be real.

But I can’t go back.
No one can.

And now I’m tangled up
in older memories,
the ones that helped make me this person
before I ever stepped
onto that sand,
before I ever scratched my way
across the country
just to feel his skin next to mine.

And those images keep pelting me
with old things that are new again,
ancient fingers brushing my hair
from my face,
lost pieces of life
I’d forgotten existed.


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