Things I Won’t Say

The sun in this part of the country makes me miss you. Even when the air is crisp, the sky is all incessant heat. You’ve always been sunflower locks and honey skin. You were dripping rose-gold and champagne, while I was busy coming in too-hot. And I still love you most days. I love you most days. I love you through the drowning. I love you through the abandoning. I love you through the paranoia, and then I wonder who did the abandoning. And does it matter when I’m abandoned? And does it matter when I still love you most days? You were midnight-caffeine and matching tattoos. And I let you fade into cooler, black and white memories. But I spent my teenage years in darkrooms. Orange-glow, red filter, pouring over underexposed film. And even washed out frames will still print if you hold the right light up to them. And the sunlight here always makes me think of you. Just let me think of you.