A whisper.
An afghan blanket.
The breeze on my face.
The sun on my closed eyelids.
My mom’s hands.
Leo’s hair.
My bedroom at dawn.
Empty Christmas stockings.
SAT testing.
Sunday morning.
Twinkle lights on our back patio.
Birthday candles going dim.
Marshmallows melting into hot chocolate.
Steam rising over the swimming pool at night.
The shuffle of papers.
The scratch of pencils writing in-class essays.
The front seat of the car without the radio on.
Rose petals in my neighbor’s garden.
The first drizzle of rain.
The last tears falling.
Charlie.