The gaps between my memory and the way we felt about it. Shade, shadows, edges of “I’m sorry” return the shape of something I couldn’t see. I try to make connections. I’m not sure if it’s pareidolia or poignant. I’m left with leaves on the ground, desire growing like grasses, and pits where I cannot.
Though, I remember softness. The kind that is inviting and patient. Natural and, asks for nothing. I stayed too long, my impression is that I pressed my weight into you and left you wilted.
What I cannot see is if you ever rebounded. Rose from the earth, your head at a gentle angle and with a single inhalation regained that soft countenance.
