remembering

Dear You:

Remember the time we spent the Fourth at the city park? There were games and races and prizes. Hotdogs, lemonade and other homemade treats.

We were in the two-legged race. It was a great start, but somewhere in the middle we fell and you were on top of me. I remember the happiness we shared even if we didn't win the race.

Later, we held hands and walked around. Some college kid offered us pot, but we were so high on our own little adventure, we didn't need anything but the night.

We talked about how we loved our little town and how cozy it was. We wandered off in the dark and found the stars so spectacular. We weren't even sure if we needed fireworks.

Of course, we saw what the others were doing off in the bushes. Naturally, we thought we were older and wiser than those love birds. Instead, we held hands as if we might be the masters of the kingdom, somehow. Full of laughter and hopefulness that we would be like no other.

Oh, those were the days! But we didn't know it then.

Sooner or later, it was bound to happen. A tiff here. A pout there. Then a full-blown fight with harsh words, thinking it would somehow make us more independent.

But that night was ours. Popsicles. Fireworks and the joy being together without pressing for more love we just knew we had to express.

We were kind and good listeners then. We wanted to know how we grew up, what our favorite TV shows were, what kind of songs did we dance too?

Yes, it was quaint and true. Sweetly honest.

I know we never meant to hurt each other. Yet we both evolved.

I wonder if you remember any of it now. After all this time.

I think of you on a summer holiday. Your hair was natural then and your smile was fascinating. It's a bliss I've learned that doesn't come around often.

All I can believe now is that you're happy and not alone. Yet a slight chance you might remember that night with me at the park.