As I lay here;
my bed is neither perfectly warm
nor refreshingly cold,
but that uncomfortable in between.

Drip.
There goes our daily walks through the alley,
Past the schoolyard,
across the cobblestone street,
up the never-ending hill,
finally into the park overflowing with children.
Filled with the greenest grass-
the steepest slides-
the squeakiest swings-
and the greatest memories;
that park was my home when I was with you.

Drop.
There goes me creeping down the steps at the crack of dawn.
You springing up from that old blue chair
rushing into the kitchen to start the frying pan.
Me sitting down in that same torn chair,
you rushing around to get the tray table,
me clicking your remote to my favorite channel,
you finally resting the hot plate of french toast in front of me.
A smile filled with thankfulness and love
is spread across my face.

Drip.
There goes the endless days of play.
Sprinting across the street to get my friends.
Running aimlessly around your house
barely escaping the one sadly chosen to be ‘it’.
Looking to see you sweeping the porch
waiting to see the paper covered popsicles in your hand
running to grab the purple one
eating it and starting all over again.
Drop.
There goes your amazing cooking.
Your spaghetti and meatballs every Sunday night,
your pizza every Friday night,
your vanilla cake with chocolate frosting every day in between.
Your syrian bread you would slave away on,
your lemonade that I would drink by the gallon,
your bread and butter sandwiches.
Your love that you would share with everything you touched.

As I lay here;
my bed is neither perfectly warm
nor refreshingly cold,
but that uncomfortable in between.
My mind is soaring,
my body is shaking,
and my heart is suffering.