Summers were meant for catching fireflies in Mason jars. And
the fact that every time I watch a firefly flutter past me, I’m reminded of you
and all the childhood that you signify. You are the cherry to my pie. And you’re
the only best friend that I might have ever made. You are the one I’d love to
chase those fireflies with tonight because later when the light would shine
across your face, I would realize how familiar those contours around your eyes
are, how deeply etched your face is in my memories.
And as I place the empty jar on your grave tonight, old
friend, the emptiness inside me wells up with a million memories of those
contours, of that face.
And in that empty Mason jar, I’ve packed all my memories of
you. Keep them safe, old friend. Keep them close. As I shall keep you.
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