we are not able to reread the pages of time again,
only our notes within memory
the original story gets lost along the way
with a couple drops of beer
or maybe it was liquor
or maybe it was raining
~~~------~~~
all i can remember is
we spent many nights -
my hippocampus is riddled with echos,
sporadic remains of room decorations -
neurons flickering like string lights,
synapses dancing like candles in the dark.
it could never forget the posters on the walls
or the
nights like these -
clear skies, dark skies,
drizzling chills and warm breezes,
dawdled footsteps on red brick,
weightless bodyprints on astroturf,
staring at a moon warped by trails in the sky
but some nights grew too cold,
some memories end under the moon and begin
in a room -
a dorm slightly too small -
it felt big with all those people in it.
i remember we found this room again, once.
like finding an old book by an author forgotten,
we knew the pages to be different
in memory
in a room -
an apartment slightly too hopeful.
it seemed alive and aware,
like it believed in permanence.
like it believed we might stay,
or at least say goodbye again
with remnants of marijuana smoke -
smoke that made the sky ripple,
made the ceiling dance with shadow,
turning your hands into something painted
in Renaissance light.
trails extending from fingertips, lovely and fine,
felt tips from a quill, feathers of an angel,
passing me a lifeline,
the aftertaste of which still lingers
the smell of which still pleases the pleasure center
and spilled spirits -
a puddle of beer.
a spilled shot of liquor.
a laugh in the grass tipping the can.
liquid long lost.
…or maybe just evaporated…
maybe memories stay in the air, and
we grab them when we want them
maybe they belong to the grass and the trees
maybe everything is shared
but maybe not everyone would recognize
the same sky, the same smell, the same hands
we share these remnants
woven so effortlessly into the present
its hard to tell
if we still smell the smoke
if we still taste the sweet
and the sour
all i can remember is
we spent many nights like these -
or maybe it was only one,
remembered over and over