Northern_Lights_2017

49 Where We Were Meghan C. Conn I walk into the closet Just to touch your old clothes. Their soft texture reminds me of your warm embrace. How it used to be. I turn then to your desk. The sticky notes with cryptic messages scattered about. Scratch paper on the top left, a picture of your aunt on the side, A little black cup with a variety of pens, A few small notes I had left you with push pins through them. The background on your computer is a picture of us. All of us. Together. Dad ran a bath for you that night. There were bubbles, too. We Never use the bath. I guess We Never really did. I begin collecting every open book you left lying around the house. The one by the tub, On the toilet tank, Next to your bed, On your desk, By the stove, On the kitchen table, In the living room. As I put your many books away, I stop to read them Just where you had left off. I guess I’d like the chance to tell you The stories They end well. I guess I’d like the chance to tell you My story Will end well. But there are no longer promises to make. There are only memories to look back upon. Memories We made Together.