at the frosty windowpane, a small fog of breath escapes the sanguine lips of a youthful, lonely lover.
small drops of condensation form there
a faint odor clings to the still air - after all this time.
cedarwood, bacon grease. leather (well worn) and a lingering of smoke.
hard cider? oh, and that spring lilac bush. with the white blooms.
the faded but distilled sense of anger - betrayal. disappointment. grief.
now they all mingled together.
a melancholy smile tugged loosely on her lip-corners.
oh - the echoes of laughter - last summer.
the walls hold the inside jokes
and the deepest secrets -
uttered only in wee hours of morning.
it doesn't work.
it gets easier to breathe deeply, freely,
as those numb memories fade to dust.
and her saccharine highlight reel, the distorted recollections -
those moments of bliss that suspended time.
they will be the only remnants of their summer spent in each other's arms.
such is the way of life.