I remember a Tuesday afternoon,
the closest star falling
behind the hilltops,
its leftover magic piercing
its way in between the trees.
The leaves, a canopy above
our heads, an arbor guiding us
to the moon.

I remember holding your hand
when we stopped, the car
growing quiet as I turned off
the engine. Our hushed laughers
as we got the blankets
out of the trunk.

I remember laying them down
on the dirt, the ground damp
from that morning’s rain,
the stars vast and endless.
Each one another day
I wished to spend with you.

I remember pulling you close,
your curls ticking my cheek
as you lay your head
on my chest. My fingers
rubbing along your back,
your arm, your stomach.

I remember never wanting
to see another sunrise.

I remember never wanting
that moment to end.

I remember you.

I remember when I used
to love you.