Do you remember the way it felt

to lay heavy in a bed next to me?

Do you remember the sheets

that wrapped around us like summer heat

or my fingers brushing a certain

feeling out of your hair? 

You had so many bad days

that I tried to kiss away

in the summer between our sheets.

I think perhaps you have forgotten

the days we spent together

that fell away like petals from a daisy

and ended in she-loves-me-not.

But now that it is winter again

and the snow lays softly the way you used to,

I can't stop myself from remembering.

I remember my side of your bed

and the way you giggled at 2 am.

I remember your side of the bed

and the way you cried at 3 am.

Your lips used to curl into days

that I brushed away with fragile hands.

Your eyelashes moved mountains

as they blinked at me

through welcomed darkness.

My sun, my stars, my moon,

lived inside your rib cage

where I laid my head to rest.

I still dream of kissing 

the sunshine from your smile.

My fingertips still remember

the feeling of your skin beneath them,

a mosaic of everyday I spent loving you.

And like a scar that doesn't fade,

the card you gave me on my 17th birthday

still sits on my dresser, 

signed, "I fall more in love with you everyday.

Love, Abbey."

And I wonder how ink can lie like that,

how you could lie like that.

You insist that our love

was not a dance in the summer rain,

even though wet hair always suited you.

Maybe when this summer comes to visit,

I will be ready to blow you away

like a dandelion in the summer heat

that so reminds me of you.