Dear Serabella,
It’s been so long since I have last seen you.
Now buried so deep amidst the challenges of the present, it becomes unbearable to see the past with your
Generous yellow-brown eyes.
But I will tell you, you seemed to belong to the summer.
You may not remember me, but I remember you.
I remember how you loved the patience of the orange light, finding its way through the cracks in the blinds. Sunshine on a shelf, as you called it. And I remember how you would prop yourself up on your elbows from bed, just to face the warmth. In awe that even in the dead of night
The sun’s way was eternal.
I remember that you would let the air escape your lungs in a hurried breathlessness, and your eyes would rekindle at the novelty of a narrow bikeway.
You would let the wind play with your words as you rhapsodized over the moss that seemed to close in on you. Movement stirred about you from all angles.
It’s been so long since I have last seen you.
Now buried so deep amidst the challenges of the present, it becomes unbearable to see the past with your
Generous yellow-brown eyes.
But I will tell you, you seemed to belong to the summer.
You may not remember me, but I remember you.
I remember how you loved the patience of the orange light, finding its way through the cracks in the blinds. Sunshine on a shelf, as you called it. And I remember how you would prop yourself up on your elbows from bed, just to face the warmth. In awe that even in the dead of night
The sun’s way was eternal.
I remember that you would let the air escape your lungs in a hurried breathlessness, and your eyes would rekindle at the novelty of a narrow bikeway.
You would let the wind play with your words as you rhapsodized over the moss that seemed to close in on you. Movement stirred about you from all angles.