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Sofia Chavez Dec 2019
Everytime I pass the street, my eyes linger on the pedestrian bridge.

It's fairly new.

And wouldn't be there if it wasn't for what happened at the corner.

A woman and her baby, or maybe she was looking after this baby, they were standing, waiting to cross, when a car took a turn too sharp, too fast, too whatever, and the baby was gone.

For months, maybe years after, the street lamp was covered in stuffed animals.

But now there's nothing but my memory of a baby I never met and a bridge I'm glad exists.

I wonder what her name was.

I wonder if anyone thinks about her when they cross the bridge.
Thoughts I have while driving through the town I grew up in
Sofia Chavez May 2019
Sometimes I catch myself
remembering the smile you had
when my fingers traced the lines of your face
your neck
The way the sun came in through your windows.
The noise you'd make when I'd nudge you.
A reminder to wake up,
to hold me closer.
The warmth of your thin comfter
the only thing protecting us
from the day.

I want to pick up the phone
but I can't call you.
I won't ever hear your laugh.
Sometimes I worry
that my memories won't last.
I want to call and say:
Do you remember when we kissed for real.
When you looked at me and said
"I've been waiting for this
for a long time"

Now everything that existed
is just mine.
And no one will ever remember
how we shivered
under your thin comforter
hidden from the day.
The thing I hate most about death is I have no one to help me remember my favorite memories. Im so afraid to forget.
  Dec 2017 Sofia Chavez
Lior Gavra
It flies amongst the stars.
Flashes for a moment.
Despite the left scars.
Holds a place close, yet far.

It carries the fallen.
From mistaken paths.
To reaches impossible.
And develops new plans.

It creates new countries.
Raises dead soldiers.
Stamps unsung heroes.
With a feeling of free.

Hear its silent sound.
Open up your eyes.
Place it in your heart.
Elevate from the ground.

It helps us climb.
Better than rope.
Do you see its shape?
It is hope.
Sofia Chavez Dec 2017
If I think back to those cold afternoons
where noon felt as cold as night
I wish I could have gone back,
traced lines on your eyes and mouth
Draw myself a map
The streets and hills that rest between your house and my memory
are empty
The words I didn't have the courage to say
stay trapped in my chest
With nowhere to go
it gets carried in through the dim light that poured into your shadeless windows
To your matress,
on the floor of a bare apartment
And makes a home between our bodies,
lingering in that space of regret
The words slipping through my hands before I could measure their worth
to you,
or anyone.
The winter bums me out. I don't like the cold, but I also get very nostalgic. Many winters were spent indoors with friends, fighting to stay warm and entertained. Many of those friends are long gone and the only person who is left to remember those winters are me. Time keeps marching forward and I can't help but feel longing for a time I'll never feel again. I wish I would have had the guts to say everything I should have.
  May 2017 Sofia Chavez
Nicole Bataclan
Sun kissed,
The warm wind skating on my skin
One hand on the shoulder,

The other one holding on tight to this moment.

A day for the books,
In mine nonetheless

Our past months rumbling in my helmet,
Taking me on this ride to where we are heading.

I close my eyes to see

Right here, I am free.
Sofia Chavez Jul 2016
There's this ache
in my heart
that I can only describe
as the first cold wind
on the last days
of summer.
Or like when you were a kid
and your parents packed you in a van.
Your house fading in the distance as you drove away from
you ever loved.
The squeaks and creaks of familiar floorboards,
the smell of  your room
becoming fuzzy details
of your dreams.

There's this ache in my heart
that reminds me of
guts twisting up
right before they tell you
they've got some bad news.
Your toes curling in your shoes,
bracing yourself
for a punch
you never physically
Or the way your voice strains
when youre trying to get
a message
the pouring rain.
The cold soaking
through your clothes,
sticking to your soul.
Creating goosebumps
on the flesh that covers
the bone.
And you never really
get quite dry.

There's this ache in my heart
that reminds me,
that reminds me.
That I could only describe
as just
that ache.
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