For clementine afternoons and juice running down your cheeks and what summer means to you. For running barefoot on bad knees. For people waiting at a bus stop. For people waiting. For red singing until you are hoarse. For cupping fireflies in your fingers. For sloppy kisses. For goodbye kisses. For kisses. For goodbyes. For missing sour like curdled milk. For books with names of previous owners like a poem. For mint sharp in your mouth and wind in your teeth. For yellow tights. For the stillness of an empty movie theater after the credits stop. For leaving. For traditions wound tight like string around your spine. For flowers growing in your ribs. For graphite on the side of your hand. For lipstick smudges on cheeks. For silver exhales and silver moonlight and silver nights on snow. For photos that stay the same. For cities where no one knows your name. For cracked vinyl diner seats. For dancing slow, sweaty palmed with a boy you love and what his hand feels like on yours. For letting go.
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