Street lights flash on chalk-stained fingers,
voices crack across the choruses of old songs.
“Let’s write our names in the places
that created us.”
The elementary school blacktop,
the beat up park with sky-reaching swings,
the sidewalk in front of the first restaurant
we ever ate at alone
your basement, my bedroom, our tree
with branches that once held scrawny,
and their gossip and giggles and gushing
and all of their stories.
A tripod built balanced on a fence
taking photos of places we no longer visit.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.