3.

Delicate, like flowers in your hair
Not like these words I drop down onto paper heavy
My red shoes, your gray sweater
our fingers are different sizes
I’ll say this a thousand times.
Libraries remind me of you now, silence makes me think about you
Sitting up here all alone for hours at a time & not really touching anything except letter keys & looking at pictures of you even though I know I probably shouldn’t
Soft and sweet like flowers in your hair
or the ways I never really got to finish putting my hands on yours
pages in old,old books
the thin kind
I wanted Sunday mornings with shallow sunlight
Tiny leaves
You are the last thing I remember.