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Do You Remember

By: Rose Baijense

Rose Baijense is an English Major with an emphasis in Creative Writing.  She is a chronic procrastinator and a chronic reader who loves watching thunderstorms. 

when the moon stained the earth 

through the oak tree, water droplets reflecting

off gray silhouettes softening

the sharp edges of the yellowed

grass behind your house? do you remember the night

we said goodbye?

 

you brushed your fingers

through my hair, 

calling me some ridiculous flower nickname 

as we swayed gently in your backyard.

Lost on You by LP filtering through chirping whip-poor-wills and 

whittling leaves, i remember

you laughing into my neck, your breath a contrasting warmth.

do you remember the fireflies that flickered, around pastel

lanterns, highlighting the curves

of your face?

 

i wish, i had never

left.

we could have been slow dancing past witching hour

your neighbor’s porch light a flicker in morse code whispering

to the fog, the whip-poor-

wills and the rustling crickets;

we could have embraced like river otters

when they fall asleep so the river doesn’t drag

them apart

 

when i told you i had to leave

i wish you had pulled me closer, and tightened your arms

around my waist, whispering one more,

just one more.

i wish we had danced

for a little longer, pretending that i

didn’t have to leave, and you

didn’t have to let me go.

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