This is where we grew up, you and I. I still grab my books and sunscreen lotion a few days out of the summer weather and sit on that old rickety lounge chair. I’m surprised it hasn’t given in yet, fallen weak for holding me and you so many times. You remember how the sun used to shine back there, don’t you? It hit our cheeks and left stains of rouge. I remember you used to beg me to jump, you’d say, “come jump in, the water, it is warm!” I fell for you every time. Yesterday I jumped. You weren’t here, but it was warm. I believe you were there though, you kept me warm as soon as the water met my feet, up through my legs, in towards my stomach, and right over my head. I stayed down there for a while, just waiting for the cold rush to reach my lungs. It never did. I opened my eyes and far in the deep end I saw something. I saw a penny. I swam across to the other side, right next to where you once almost lost your mothers’ locket. As I dove down deep to the first foot of six, I hit my finger. Red bled and diffused like food coloring in that darn deep end pool.
I came up for air.
The chair was still holding me, I must have been dreaming. You remember when we used to kiss laying on the old rickety lounge chair until the sun came up, don’t you?
(Source: the-dudeabides, via breakfastdreams)
