I can smell my memories.
The comfort. The heartache. The animosity and longing. The beginnings of autumn.
In each face I meet, I glance but a subtlety of who they might be
As I swallow the reminiscence of the who they will not.
Their existence burns the replicas of already seen and already known.
I hear the same foreign mutters. Feel the same inevitable purpose. Know the same hopeful plans.
I taste the same wanted regrets.
And as I smell my memories
reeking from the footsteps of this future
that has somehow stumbled so deeply into my past.
I realize the words that escape me.
Captivated in the contorted remembrance of your eyes. Her words. Their smile. His voice.
My breath has begun its transformation into frost.
And the once was that can’t help but slip
into my now
remains the fire that keeps me warm.