Into the Sun
Three years and I’ve nearly laid you to rest in my memory.
Three years of a book open on my shelf.
You are my vines in a field of roses,
My snow in a cold November.
I run to you always, but our roads have met and diverged enough I know to tell my feet not to go back, to move forward.
We are imperfect people,
But our perfection was always the calm in the chaos.
I like to walk away from you, into the sun.