The meadow

There’s a place that I think about and I think about it often. I’ve never been there before, I’ve never even seen it. It’s possible it doesn’t exist anywhere else but the insides of my mind. It’s a rolling meadow, dystopian and realistic all at once. I wish that we could go there. 

We don’t have to talk about what’s happened, in fact I’d prefer that we didn’t. 

But we could be there together, maybe we could be a little younger, a little naiver and a little more in love. 

 There, long grass sways and I brush my hand through it to see your face so I can reassure myself that my memory of you hasn’t faded. I can’t see you in any other light than the one I first knew you in, it’s golden and honest like the light right now. 

If I could, I would tell you everything and nothing like I always used to and I’d say I love you without opening my mouth. I liked it that way. When did it turn so sour. 

I’ll be in the field where the grass sways, with dandelions and eternal crisp sunlight for the now and for all of the tomorrows.

In my mind, I am stuck here forever; in this beautiful and sad place.

I miss you all of the time. 

All of the time, I miss you.