Do you remember? I do.
A day in July,
we were driving to the store,
and you were driving with no control.
The speed made my heart rate increase,
like the sales of a new Wii.
All of the sudden we were in a wreck.
I remember I saw you and when I blinked you left.
Our conversation was cut short, because you flew
out the window, like a bird flying away from the cold.
I wanted to scream “come back,” but my voice was lost in the crash.
I knew your life had ended.
My tears were flooding my heart,
like hurricane Katrina flooded Louisiana.
I wanted you to open your eyes and see me walk
when I graduate.