Wasted

I remember a flower crown, lightly placed on top of your head. I can still feel my sticky skin from the humidity of the summer evening. Laughter echos in my ears, and sometimes I can remember myself smiling.

Purity, before I began living the reality of what I once thought was living for the “more” that I once imagined.

The warmth is no longer the same, neither is the rain that we always wished for.

Here we are.