I remember a Tuesday afternoon,

the closest star falling

behind the hilltops,

its leftover magic piercing

its way in between the trees.

The leaves, a canopy above

our heads, an arbor guiding us

to the moon.

I remember holding your hand

when we stopped, the car

growing quiet as I turned off

the engine. Our hushed laughers

as we got the blankets

out of the trunk.

I remember laying them down

on the dirt, the ground damp

from that morning's rain,

the stars vast and endless.

Each one another day

I wished to spend with you.

I remember pulling you close,

your curls ticking my cheek

as you lay your head

on my chest. My fingers

rubbing along your back,

your arm, your stomach.

I remember never wanting

to see another sunrise.

I remember never wanting

that moment to end.

I remember you.

I remember when I used

to love you.