Salt
I feel you in the chill wrapped around my shoulders, a familiar friend, neither denied nor welcomed.
Old shadows. Sweat. Flaking paint over iron.
I feel you in the control of the shaking muscles in my leg, uncomfortable and dear for the pain.
Worn rubber. Smiles. Snow on the hills.
I feel you in the burn of the frozen rain as it pelts my skin, pebbling the flesh with icy fingers.
Tears in the dark. Sorrow. Hot chocolate with cream.
I feel you in the music playing in my ears over the beeps of the machine, like an old, well-worn pair of shoes.
Familiar rhythms. Songs. Colored pencil faces.
I feel you in the memories we made and in the memories I’ve borrowed, making space for nostalgia.
Guilty letters. Sun. Grass growing around a gravestone.
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