You are a page I never want to crease, I try to keep you flat, unbent, never tucked away because you should never be tucked away, I try to press this flower into the book of you, it might keep, like the rain I caught in a jar once, or it might linger, like your laugh I caught in my ear once, or it might fade, like the night you left in the moon once.

You are the song I never stop, arriving at the grocery store with you on my stereo, can’t turn the ignition off, done with my exercising and I can’t take you out of my headphones, tired at night but your sound is better than a laughing dream, much better than a crying dream, I press repeat and hope to sleep with your sound, steal your voice for the waltzes my memories compose.

I wonder if loss is a word meant for you, or if you are word meant for loss, the planes above not fast enough to outpace my thoughts of you.

Gently, you always go gently, river smooth in my head, a golden lace untied in a knotted field of what ifs and what nots, that green petal in an awfully brown garden, your face like the sunset that slips beautiful reds and oranges over the world like a skyfall campfire crackling in pops.


4 thoughts on “Gently, You Always Go Gently

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