By Grace Halio
remnants of the summer
things like crickets and gasoline,
bonfires and ratty sweatshirts,
remind me of how
meredith would ride shotgun in the ford
and i would drive half the length of long island.
colored by beaches, bagels, and best friends,
open roads at 1am, the sound of frank sinatra.
i spent this summer waiting to get over a lost love,
endlessly recounting how old habits are hard to break.
once, he taught me how to golf,
which ultimately was a failed venture.
i played baseball for eight years
and i couldn’t — can’t — swing a golf club for the life of me
simply because the movement isn’t the same.
there is a photo of us
where i am caught off guard
and grasping onto his arm.
i still know the feeling of his button down,
and the feeling of the summer wind.
i am slowly letting go
of those moments, memories.
waiting for old habits to disappear,
knowing that i can unlearn them.
my best friends and I know that we can fall back on friendship,
but this doesn’t change the fact that we are each still waiting
for someone to love us in all of the right ways.
there was one morning that i woke up
and found a kind of clarity, happiness,
with someone else
the kind that makes me feel like it’s a saturday morning
even if it’s a thursday at 8 a.m.
where the sun is warm
and i’ll buy raspberries at the farmers market
just because everything feels right,
like it’s finally fallen into place.
i’m slowly learning
is a process of healing