I’ll miss these foggy early mornings

when I’m gone.

And drawing circles in the dust

on the windows and watching

them be washed away by the

rain

that nobody predicted.

(Mama always told me they were the

tears of an angel.)

And ice cream on summer evenings,

and the rope swing hanging from my tree,

and the way I could hear you smile

when you said hello.

(I hear you crying now.)

I’ll miss watching the rain, and

wondering if every drop is someone’s world

falling apart.