Brown eyes that darken in the shadows.
Memories. Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong,
crumpled papers full of black ink and little
secrets tied to the summer by the ocean and
the boy she spent it with, the dinner that
gave them runny noses, rosy cheeks.

Gazing, blank eyes, sleepless nights.
A boy by her side, a summer full of travel, and that’s
all she ever needed. New memories: crinkled sheets,
hot chocolate, in the arms of blankets, and lingering lips.
Faded now. Memories
that didn’t flourish or ignite until they parted.

Burgundy and pastel yellow leaves are
falling. Time passing. Pillows stained in tears,
smiles painted from notes layered in red and black ink,
shared books, and trembling kisses. Her sleek brunette
hair and her petite figure is now in a crowd, and all of
the faces within it are                                    Blurred.