Still

By Kristina Kingsley


I haven't seen you in a while now. I only caught a few glimpses: your hair in the sunlight or the

rim of your brown glasses across the room. And yet, I can't forget you, for the simple words you

said­­ “hello”, “good morning”, “please”, “can I borrow a pen?” My mind recalls us sipping

winterberry tea, hot on a blue windowsill overlooking the birth of a summer's Saturday morning.

I see you sitting at your father's kitchen table, with a card game I cannot comprehend, for I am

too caught up in the way your dark hair falls perfectly over your evergreen eyes. My love, a

secret kept in coy smiles and innocent glances on long Autumn hikes through the Adirondack

trails. Falling deeper, as the trees become our playground and the green grass, wet beneath the

soles of our feet, bring us back to life. When Spring came, you were gone. So as I sit here in

silence and imagine you beside me, for once the busy world is still.