And She Sailed

Everyone moves on. Or they should.

1995. Boxful of mixtapes and photos.

Hand scrawled letters, assorted gifts.


A winter, a held hand, a magic first kiss.

But I lost her soon enough, and she sailed.

The stars still glimmer crisply in a winter night.


Put the lid on the box, and put it out of sight.

I don’t want to throw it away, but no point

in rummaging through the ashes of what didn’t burn.


A letter from Lindsey came today, a friend listening.

I’ll read it when I came back inside from drinking coffee,

looking up at the crisply glimmering stars in the winter night.

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