remember late summer months? we’d sit outside by the barbed wire fence and get high together and watch the airplanes and jets take off like cumbersome albatross in stale air.
your tired almond eyes would lock onto the sky like a sleepy sentinel waiting for its turn to fall back asleep and dream a little more.
those days we felt no concern for what lay outside our patch of wild grass on your uncle’s lawn next to the jet port; none for the city that lay half asleep ten minutes down the freeway; none for the water trickling into the harbor at low tide’s end; none for the endless crusade of tourists conquering cobble stone streets, no, we cared only for the sky and what beautiful curiosities dares cross and dance in its infinite wake.
we were young then, often dreaming of the past and dismissing the present, all while too high to convince ourselves to get away from this town your mother would call a city.
in the field where we lay and watched the jets fly grew daisies in notable abundance; wild and plentiful, dressed in white and yellow. you loved those daisies, enough to pick a handful every time we sat.
and though i loved you then and now with unending tremblings of my cut up hands, it pains me to walk along cracked sidewalks and gaze at the same wild weeds you once called flowers.
the days passed us by despite my ardent protests; i, kicking and screaming at absent patches of wild weeds, unable to comprehend inevitable endings, unwilling to lend myself to fate, especially one such as this.
you and your uncle moved out west in the fall. to where, you would not tell me.
i have collected and stored every handful of daisies you gifted me in a shoebox beneath my winter sweaters in a closet i no longer have ownership of. they have shrunken and dried up in stagnant unloved air shortly after you left.
i continue to visit that now barren hill where we once lay, high and unknowingly in love. i no longer find discarded clips of our joints and spliffs, no more chain-linked daisies. now it is but dirt and rock, the beginning to most ends, waiting for some lonesome fuck to move in and sow the proper seeds for a garden worthy of your heart.
now it is dark in this rented bedroom in the city and i am too drunk to think about you and your tiresome almond eyes and the quiet distilled love you gifted me during summer days. know that wherever you are, i will remember the giant cumbersome albatross and the wild weeds you once deemed beautiful.