Do you remember the first time
you told me you liked me?
We sat under an old hickory tree,
watching the rain come closer over the mountain.

Do you remember the last time we kissed?
It was on a mountain,
in a rain storm.

Just as summer fades to autumn,
autumn grows sleepy for winter,
winter melts into spring,
and spring blossoms into summer,
we followed a pattern —
made our own season of sorts.

I can feel the weather shifting.
My head, my bones ache,
akin to the soreness in my heart.

You were my perfect rain shower,
and I,
I was your hurricane.

Do you remember those days,
and all of the ones in-between?

Do you remember,
on the day of our last kiss,
you said, “I should have
kissed you that day in the rain”?

Memories flood and retreat,
and the rain washes away
the moments I hold tight to my chest.