Our Young Willow Tree

December 16, 2017
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I’ll never let anyone close the last door
on me without thinking of you
You stand there
staring through the glass door,
rubbing the back of your neck,
and hiding behind your soft hello
You shove your hands
in your worn out jean pockets
We roll down the windows
in your brother’s car
and let the summer’s wild heat
lose track of our time
Only small talk croaks out of us
but there is always
something more brewing in us
We lay in the dandelion field
under a young willow tree
and can’t help but
exchange stolen glances
You whisper to me that
you have to leave soon
You promise me endless trips
to the beach next summer
That following summer
I get no phone call back
Now four years later
I still search for you
under our willow tree
and in passing cars
hoping to ask you “Why?”






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