Hiraeth

coarse bark coating my palm

incising our hands and knees gleefully

scrambling with gangly limbs

up a too short tree

and we sit on the tree

finally

books and cameras in hand

to commemorate our little triumph

our little merging

with nature

in this false memory we met sooner

in this false memory nothing is new

in this false memory we have climbed every tree we could find

in this false memory I am the age I got used to

in this false memory everything is golden at the moment we live it

in my memory I did not climb any trees

in my memory we did not meet soon enough

the universe’s timing

can be a bitter awakening

I refuse to take it for granted

I refuse to squander it

though the memory is false, the feeling is real

memories are kept, after all, to invoke a feeling

to remember warnings

to remember butterflies

before they scarcened 

though the memory is false

I have still climbed many trees

in spirit I have always been free

I have always been this version of me

I will always be reminiscing 

the days I never lived.