I remember the new car smell
the new car smell on him,
warm sun cascading down on us in a car we couldn’t afford.
But we sat back, and basked in the delusion
I remember the wetness
the wetness on my cheek,
falling down to mix with his, a riot on our faces.
The tightening around my windpipe as every foreign sob ripped through me.
I admitted I wasn’t strong
I remember the music
the music wrapping around us,
a multitude of notes and cadences, some mine some others.
The exhilaration of not hearing my voice, but one thousand raised in praise.
suddenly not alone
I remember the boldness
the boldness of his feet,
seeping cold penetrating the paradise of my sunshine mix-matched socks.
The only protection I had
I remember the snow
the snow on his back,
as he turned away to leave.
I shivered for the loss of something
I remember the stomach sinking,
I remember the anxious waiting,
I remember the glass shattering highs,
I remember the easy pleasure,
I don’t remember him.