All I can remember is rough hands and a warm touch.
The hands weren't rough in a bad way, they
were rough because of the work that had devastated his palms
and his finger tips.
All I can remember is the dark nights and the glare of a tv screen.
The tv played episodes upon episodes of shows we never payed attention to
not because they were boring, but because we had
better things to look at.
All I can remember is warm afternoons in your living room.
We clung to each other under thick blankets even though the summer heat had set upon us
and the sunlight fled into the room through the large extravagant windows of your large extravagant house.
You had practically grown up in a mansion,
while I grew up in a neighborhood older than my grandparents.
All I can remember is tight embraces and the locking of lips that didn't quite fit right.
All I can remember is the words stuck in my throat because I didn't know when to speak in the presence of your friends.
All I can remember is the moment I realized that you and I were
so similar but in the presence of our peers, so different
All I can remember is the day you left for camp.
You said goodbye to me that afternoon as if it was our last
and in a way, it was.