They tell me I’m not the first to fall.
Crossing through the cobwebs.
The laughter and half –moon nights,
the smell of oregano and taste of silence
fall around me,
memories shattering over my head.
Simple silhouettes of two people in the long grass.
Piano notes that fall like stars,
sidewalks of conversation
pouring out the defeat and deceit
into the open arms of the wind.
They tell me it wasn’t worth it,
I should let go,
let the strings slip through.
And I did; broke away,
until I could remember
on campfire nights
with smiles instead of remorse.
And then I tuck away the memories
under my mattress
until I am ready
to be a simple silhoutte again.
words and photos by ella jaz kirk.