-WET WILLOW TREE-

I remember racing through the sun-kissed park when our little bodies only stood at three feet. Your hand would drape through mine and be abruptly yanked because my anticipation drove me to pull you everywhere I went. You were blanketed by my

shadow when you pushed me on the swing. The bottom half of your jeans were no stranger to dust whenever I'd run in front of you with bugs bunny feet picking up dirt.

Do you remember the carnival days that were always misplaced in the fall season; and when our knuckles would turn to ice? But that didn't stop us from waiting in longest lines for two-minute rides that'd throw our hearts into the pit of our stomachs.

And when the day would turn to night, and when my mind was dazed from a day of milkshake making, I'd jump onto your back and hitch a piggy back ride until my

legs regenerated.

Do you remember the forest utopia right behind my house that was an adventure to us every trip we'd take to it? I remember a willow tree that we'd sit underneath after pushing past lace-like vines of greenery surrounding it.

On wet, rainy days this was our spot. The spot without barriers between us, the spot where thoughts drained from our mouths at random; the spot where I met the most introspective version of you. The you that looked beyond tunnel vision, no barriers.

I'd fallen asleep with a single one of your arms warped around my shoulder too many times to count. An endless number of falling between the cracks of worlds through my dreams to the soundtrack of your voice.

But when I ask you if you remember any of this, there are bits and pieces you seem to forget. You don't recall abrupt hand grabbing or below freezing piggy back rides or naps under wet willow trees; at least not naps with your arm curled around my own.

My mistake.. My brain seems to be confused between the memories and the fantasies, but do the fantasies really seem so bad?

~ifthenightcouldtalk