feather light touches,

ghosts of whispers once haunting,

perhaps still,

but beautifully so,

heartache burning like red hot kisses,

fingers crossed in her lap,

headphone earbuds pulsing rhythmic

serotonin in her

bloodstream, bone marrow, brain tissue,

even her nail beds remember the feeling of

soft skin, delicate

a hard, unbreakable porcelain pillow that she just 

longs

to run her palms along, so pretty, so perfect,

her pencil scratching graphic graphite sketches of eyes,

dotting the page with freckles,

car keys piano bars bike pedals,

strawberry ice cream and strawberry shoes,

carabiner hooks dug into belt loops, bandana ties tucked behind ears

scissors and glue and watercolored pencils,

cardstock paper waiting to be folded molded built from the ground up into the next

letter flower photo album, cursive-scribed sender and

pink lipstick kisses return address seals

shoelaces knotted by fingers far more experienced than her own,

the kind of butterfly clips backpack pins lanyards hanging from pockets

experience,

the kind of love that makes concealer fade and hair come down,

unbuttoning untwisting and returning home

after dinner, sun sinking behind dusk clouds,

stars winking into appearance, and she looks to the left,

at the girl laying next to her,

so far from the people they used to be still are could be can be

away from the sun the stars and the warm grass,

and when she finally releases, her tears aren’t of sorrow

they are nostalgia and remembrance and longing from the future, a promise 

and they are always and forever, have been and will be,

only solely wholly 

for her