What do I remember of her? Straight brown hair, sky-blue eyes and tapered cheekbones? Her love of horses? My head swimming when she smiled?

What don’t I remember of her? Our walks in the woods of Douglas Park? Or awkward moments under the bleachers? Or our times together in the rush of pouring rain?

I can only remember what happened. Not what I would have wanted to happen, had I come of age where we grew up together.

Instead of where I did, without her.

flying sparks
the imprint in the ground
we never made

Photo by Travis Grossen