Sandcastles Aren’t Forever

It’s funny what stays with you.

You might think it’ll be the special things

you did together or the gifts he gave

or even smallish creases around the eyes,

grown more pronounced over the years.

The truth is, though, you won’t be able

to remember his eyes at all, if they were

simply dark and powerful

or if the green light danced on them

just so

when he smiled.

You may wish that you could still recall

the feel of his hair between your fingers,

his curls making promise rings around all

ten of them, when you both were committed

to be with each other forever.

Even the smell fades away, his special

scent: dancing with soap and cotton

as you ran to each other each evening

or took walks along the chilly dockside,

feeling his warmth, smelling his skin,

knowing that these were moments that

had no need of being remembered

because he would never go away.

And the truth is, in time, there’s much

less to remember, his coloring, perhaps,

or how you could hold entire conversations

with simply your eyes. And what it feels like

to radiate under his warmth. It just drifts away,

grain by grain. A monument eroded

by the afternoon tide.



12 thoughts on “Sandcastles Aren’t Forever

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