I refuse to re-encounter the reality that I will not see you this summer.

I was thinking today about your face paint,
how I now wear my memories like circles and swirls,
highlighter on wrist.
Nostalgia like this feels daringly different;
it is immersing yourself accidentally in the ocean
because some kid couldn’t bear to fill in her hole.
Each island is inhabited by organic matter
clinging from past arguments with the sun,
waiting to scream through it again.
I was thinking today about your face paint,
pink lines and blue curls,
kindergarten crayon box around my eyes,
and it made me realize:
I bought blue eyeliner,
I wear neon pink lipstick like it’s a life preserver.

I miss you.

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4 thoughts on “I refuse to re-encounter the reality that I will not see you this summer.”

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