there are things that i believe
in the end we speak of
hot springs and ideas
of where we leave each other
and i find you here
down by the spring
where the water moves slowly
and the air feels warmer
than everything around it
the grass running deep
deeper than green
and the colors blending into
what we believed
we could become because of them
and i find you here
by the windows of my home
i stand against the glass
watching the street below
the lights passing
the cars moving
people going somewhere
and i miss where i could be
without ever having been there
like longing can create
a memory of its own
we find beauty in the details
in which direction the grass blows
in where the smoke moves
when the fire burns
how it curls above us
and points toward something
before disappearing
and i still believe
in little things like this
the things we were told as children
that winds can carry answers
that stars can mean something
that wishing long enough
might somehow make us heard
we dance in this fine light
in the way i remember
in distance
in the books of pages
we create
like chapters inside memory
like lines folded at the corners
so we know where to return
like victories we never knew
we were living through
until the moment passed
and became something
we could only look back on
i remember your name
and i feel your emotions
the pain
the softness
the hurt
the ache
the things you carried
without ever saying them
and i feel you with a pulse
like something still moving
beneath everything we left
like a hand against a wall
feeling for life
on the other side
i can feel the slight hatred too
the little bitterness
that comes when something
does not become what we wanted
when the picture looks different
from the one we painted
but i let it pass
because when i give emotion
it is because i believe
in whatever it was
enough to let it matter
enough to let it live
without needing it
to become mine
and there is no pain here
there is no sorrow
not in the way
there used to be
there is hope
i find you down by the spring
in the year where we left it
and somehow the books remember
more than i ever could
the chapters
they bleed quietly
through ink and folded pages
for someone to understand
why i stood here
for so long
waiting for something
i could not have
watching the seasons move
while some part of me
refused to leave
but i find that beautiful
to have wanted
to have believed
to have stood somewhere
long enough
for the ground to remember me
to have given something meaning
even if the meaning
was mine alone
to understand
to believe
to let go of words
that no longer hurt me
to leave behind beliefs
that were never truly mine
to forgive the versions of myself
that needed them
and return a little closer
to what i know i am
to find time in happiness
is to find time in this
in the spring
in the grass
in the warmth against cold air
in the smoke that points
before disappearing
in pages that hold fingerprints
long after the hands have gone
because everything leaves
something behind
a scent
a name
a place in the body
where something once lived
and i think what i believe is
there is beauty in knowing
we do not have to stay
to become part of each other
we do not have to return
to have existed there
because somewhere
beneath all this time
beneath the pages
the smoke
the water
and everything we thought
we had to become
i know
you will remember this too
and i know
you’ll never forget me