For A.

Even after all these years,
I still find myself thinking about you.

How was I supposed to realize
that the cool touch of your hand in mine
would sear itself into my memory
as if it were the scar
of a thousand icy fires?

Or that your lips that told
of hopes and dreams for a better future–
not just for yourself, but for the whole world–
would be so intoxicating and unforgettable
when pressed against mine?

I have made several mistakes
since that touch, that kiss,
one of which was
letting you go
without an explanation.

Now I am left with the memory
and an apology that seems
too thin, too late, and too quiet
to be of any real benefit
to you.

And I know that everything I said and did
gives you no reason to trust me,
to even listen to me,
but I do have just one question:

Do you still think about me, too?


Photo by Min An from Pexels