Like a quote that I cannot remember
Like a song stuck right in my head
A fire once, now it’s an ember
Ash pages of words that were said.

Like a waft that drifts out of the kitchen
Just a hint of the past, so sweet.
I have scars that I know were once stitches
But I only recall summer heat.

Like water, like sand, to hold in your hand
To cradle when it just slips away.
It was art, it was home, not written but shown,
Now crumbled, broken pieces of clay.

I miss it!
What was it?
I miss what I lost!
It was warm, it was cold, it was piercing and soft.
It was something, just something
I feel calling me back.

I’d go to it now if I hadn’t lost track.