The porch squeaks as I make my way outside
And sneakily find my way into the nook of your neck
It feels like we’re twentysomethings again
Watching the sunset, just us two
I kiss your cheek knowing you’ll still blush
Even after a decade has gone by
Later That Evening,
Our miniature human is crawling on the floor
Donning my bushy, black eyebrows
Her cheeks sprinkled with your freckles
She is a blend of things I once hated about myself
And everything I’ve always admired about you
That Weekend,
You wake me up with cinnamon raisin toast
Our song playing in the kitchen
A surfboard, car seat, and us three driving to the ocean
You begin to ask about preschools
But I insist on prancing in salt water and sand
For she only has the remainder of our time together
To learn from our love
To try and make sense of it for herself
But In This Life,
We break up and I move to New York City
Years go by and you become an anecdote
Yet I know our love still exists
Because somewhere in Southern California
Your crooked smile is out there
I just wish I could trace it with my fingertips
One Last Time
Sophia Alexeivana is a Californian before anything else. Transfixed by the notions of love, loss, and maturation, she strives to dissect her lived experiences on the page. When she isn't writing poetry on sticky notes, you can find her training for a half marathon and spending time with friends.
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