Raising Hope

For the people who raised you, the people that raised hope.
  Jan 3, 2012
Kyla
Kyla
Dec 28, 2011

Nights stretched as long as I could make them,
I'd flip the pages.
Words we could could read without seeing,
we memorized the many truths.
Crooked notes hung on soft voices,
you'd sing me to sleep.

  Jan 3, 2012
Kyla
Kyla
Dec 7, 2011

The smell of tires and overheated air hits us like confetti pieces as if we've just won the Superbowl.

This is how I choose to remember you.

This was the beginning to our "adventures", hours lost aimlessly wandering down aisles. The list mom wrote, neatly tucked away in the bottom of one of our pockets, whoever she deemed more responsible that day.

Our bellied laughs would bellow clear over the bird feeders, past the flannel lined jeans, and beyond the orange slice candies.

We taught ourselves a new language. One when spoken, always accompanied with a flimsy tongue. One when spoken to anyone but you was just babble.

In this place, we found life without a limit. One where dancing among the Harley Davison vests was acceptable. One where testing the army surplus metal helmets only seemed logical.

We found a place where you didn't have to grow up, time stopped.

For us, we found a place that created equals of us.

These memories, like words stored in dictionaries, are stored in the pages of my mind. On lonely days I visit them, flipping pages, finding your voice, your smile and your silly dance. They echo off the walls of my memories.
                                 and when I open my mouth to echo back it sounds like this :


                                                             ­   Fli
                                                             ­               Flove
                                                             ­                                   Flou

 
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