If I Died This Summer

If I died this summer,

will you remember what I looked like?

Pictures of me you do not hold

and in memory, faces are hard to find.

My laughter would you miss the most,

or would it be my voice?

Would you sulk over me a little,

or move on in your stride?

Would you stop by and smile a slight smile,

if a memory crossed your mind?

Or would you keep me buried,

in the crevices of your mind?

Would the sky still be this blue for you,

with parakeets sailing?

And I need to ask:

would you go to places still,

the ones you only went me?

Or tag along new faces you meet,

fading me in memory?

If I died this summer,

would you love me still?

Hold my hand and laugh with me

would you or not, my friend?