The Summer Love

 A summer ablaze,

perhaps the brightest

I have ever known.

Its warmth carved itself

into the marrow of my days.

My fingers wandered through his hair,

my palms rested on his shoulders,

as if touch could anchor time,

as if tomorrow had forgotten us.

Yet time is merciless,

indifferent to the ache of hearts.

It moves, and I must follow,

waving farewell,

whether I wish it or not.

If the world would allow,

I would relive it endlessly.

But reality strikes sharper than longing.

So I whisper into the silence:

I love you, though it was only summer’s love.

I cherish you still, and hunger for your nearness.