humid nights
icy cinnamon tinged
apple juice
clutched in hands
lazy talk of
[the good ol' days]
"remember whens"
"wish we could do it
agains"
& "i'm really gonna
miss you this summer"
& i really can't believe
[time flew by so fast]
it seems only yesterday
we dreamed of
candlelit beach parties
melting fudge cones
& getting caught up
in encores
& singalongs
& sneaking backstage
at the warped tour
& fake i.d.s
& dirty converse sneakers
& sleeping in till noon
& staying up till three
[now it's actually gonna happen]
but you won't be there
at the beach party
you won't be there
to save my ice cream cone
you won't use your fake i.d.
& your sneakers will thump
upon the baking asphalt
of unknown territory
& i don't know the time
difference between [here]
& [the middle of nowhere]
will you call?
will you write?
will you visit sometime?
"i don't know ...
it's really far way from
[here] ..."
& your voice melts away
into the slow
pancake-with-marmalade
sunset
& the thrashing of sapphire
crystalized waves
"what did you say?
i didn't hear you the first time"
you sigh
[are you tired?
tired of me?]
& you sniff
[are you sick?
sick of me?]
& you tremble
[are you scared?
scared of me?]
& you spit out the words
[that i've heard before]
"i'm really gonna miss
you this summer ...
really"
& an awkward hug
& a murmur of "good-bye"
& an empty spot of
frozen sand
where you once sat
beside me
[and i try holding back the tears
because i knew this was coming
all along]