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.