sidewalk chalk

I miss the laughter. Tiny passing moments filled with drunk jokes, blurry smiles, and all our favorite songs, pretending we could make it last forever. When moonlight shimmers on the street corner we used to call home, and the words quiet down, I can almost hear echoes of our camaraderie ringing in my head, and it momentarily turns into my favorite melody.

Countless summer nights, memories written on the pavement with invisible sidewalk chalk only I can see when I pass the avenue leading to the nook I loved with all my heart. Even now. A million frozen crystals reflect the light of the streetlights now, and I can see the air I’m breathing out. Invisible words on the pavement beneath the thinnest layer of glittery ice, protecting it like glass in a picture frame.

A bunch of careless people, brought together by fortuity, torn apart by destiny, yet forever connected by invisible strings and shared fragments of time. We all carry them around like immaterial keepsakes and ethereal treasures.

I remember running barefoot across a meadow when the night slowly waned, and the youngest rays of sunshine hit our patch of the world. When the feeling of fading whiskey made us take in the night’s adventure one last time. Back when crying and laughing laid so close together, complementing each other just like we did.

As I walk down my own version of memory lane, re-reading our story on every path I take, I can feel you around me. For the shortest of moments, we’re here again. United in all our hearts, together in the whispers of yesterday.

I wrap myself tighter in my jacket, the one none of you ever saw, because our chapter unfolded when the world was bathed in light and the brightest of colors. Snowflakes fall on my cheeks, and I count them like the seconds I held on to before holiday decorations replaced the beach towels in my room. Mistletoes instead of sunflowers and lavender.

One day, we will paint new memories on the pavement. I’ll bring the sidewalk chalk. Until then, I’ll walk down the roads painted with our pictures, labeled with the verses and chants we created together when our laughing voices filled the dozy neighborhood that has now gone quiet. It’s only me, a collection of icy picture frames on the gravelly ground, and the feeling of nostalgia and yearning wandering through the gallery of our legend.