I remember that fall,
I was seven years old,
you were 6 feet tall
and I hugged your legs.
The leaves were changed
but we stayed the same,
you may have aged
but we were both young at heart.
I remember that fall,
I was twelve years old,
you were still so tall,
and now I hugged your waist.
We sat by the fire, like every other year,
you told me a scary story,
the first and last I'd ever hear
in your deep, soothing voice.
I remember that fall,
I was fourteen years old.
You were just as tall,
but so, so thin.
There was not a hair on your head,
instead a tumor resting in there.
You smiled but you wished you were dead,
and you couldn't enjoy the season with me.
I remember that fall,
I was sixteen years old.
You're not here at all,
and I am not okay.
It's nearly two years,
everyone else enjoys their days;
but I still shed the most tears.
Fall is no longer a place for laughter;
only horrific memories.
It's summer now,
I'm eighteen years old
and nothing's how it was at all.
You'd be so proud of me.
I've made new friends,
I'm working now and I'm happy.
She is too, I know you're wondering.
I still miss you every day,
but at least time has taught me
how to continue on this way.