this is what i remember

a girl in a bright red coat
walking over a fallen log
telling him
"just step where i do, 
and you'll never fall"

a field by the traintracks
one tree, one million tiny yellow
buttercups, reflecting off
his sleeping skin.
warm breaths. 
cool breezes.

a girl in a long brown skirt,
turning cartwheels
laughing and brighter than
he'd ever seen her before
and only he
was seeing her now.

open windows at night, in
the summer
hot metal pressed 
between the pillow and her cheek
his whisper in her 
ears, while
she pretended to sleep.

two heads peeking out
from beneath
a shapeless mass of red coat
whilst the rain trickles
between the branches;
laughing.

a girl and a boy sat side by
side, looking down 
into a stream so choked with
litter it barely moves.
his hand around hers, pulling
her over to the edge
covering that
coat with leaves and mud.

counting train carriages, deciding
eight is good
and four is bad. walking under
pathways of green,
hands intertwined and steps
in time. 

kissing.

sat on the swings, 
feeling as if she could fly and not
knowing if it was his
smile, or the height doing that.

train stations in the rain
and the musty smell of the library.
the sun on her eyelids.
warmth.

hesitant touches
and sitting in darkened rooms
watching movie after movie
as an excuse to 
be together.

his hands on her waist, her
fingers on his face
tracing his lips as he whispered
not even noticing the smile
appearing on hers.

cold tile floors and total
acceptance.
moments so beautiful
even to list them fills her eyes
with tears;
she always thought crying when
happy was nonsense.

now: the catches in his breath
and quiet shakes that
pass for him crying in her arms.
eating snow off of trees
because he laughs when
she plays dinosaur.

blanket forts and bad days
that never seem so bad
three minutes later.
sick days in bed, and cool hands
oh her forhead.

the gentle rise of her stomach,
his laughter exploding
out of him. her tears falling;
she is happy here.