All I remember

I don’t remember your face.

But I remember the awkwardness with which you greet me,

Afraid it will show, all your vulnerability.

I remember the softness of your palm,

As they lay quiet on your legs, while my fingers searched them,

For something more, willing them to hold,

Entwine mine, and me.

I remember your laughter, so sharp and rare,

Made me feel so much better, knowing i could have done that.

I remember that crooked smile,

As it smiled unwillingly, too afraid to open,

The risk that it had, the falling too hard, too much, too fast.

I remember the distance, the sharp distance you maintained,

Hands in your pocket, on guard always,

Taking a step back, even if i simply lent in to hear you say.

I remember how vulnerable you were,

Telling things you didn’t think you would,

Your fathers thoughts and poetries,

And the pain you withstood.

I don’t remember the face,

I remember the feelings, the passing moments, the memories we made.