I look at a photo
the one that was filtered several times,
to make it seem like we had fun.
I breathe in spaces larger than black holes
hoping I can hear the sound of footsteps
before any steps taken.
It all seems too familiar at an arm’s length
a safe speed to be at
chasing and never catching.
I open the chest of memories
and push back the cobwebs.
It hasn’t been that late since,
since illusions seeped in through my cracks.
It hasn’t been that late since I sat in the park
and sat alone by the river.
It’s only a matter of time before a bell jingles close by
the nostalgia comes in lashing through a wave
and I feel happy at the thought of never being there again.