Epitaph

summer was killing us
everything we were
the beautiful pulse
was editing an ending
and I was still in love with the
beginning

My love's name was Johnny. I was 18, he 21 and we thought we were forever. So from one July to the next a year proved we were too young and the world too heavy. We were not meant to be forever, but the heart never forgets. Every now and then he sneaks into my poetry without me actually being aware of it, this poem was us.