There were days that I was taught to love.
I think it was the music.
The repetition was routine.
Sunday morning and the magnetic strips.
Magnets, cardboard, and glue, manifesting.
I'm in love, and I have always been.
I was raised in these fields, and it was beautiful.
When no one danced, you did.
When no one was there, you were.
On Sunday mornings, there was a special feeling when you were there.
Maybe you were sad, but I was not.
I knew where we were, and today I know you wish we were there, too.
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We were living in wondrous times that we could not see.
I will never forget the days when the light was brighter, and we did not know.
We dreamed of trivial things.
We fought for information and were fascinated by all we were told.
We left the adrenaline and the dopamine in the parks.
Home was safe for some. Rest for some. Regeneration for some.
I am fortunate to be one of these.
Across the street, the unimaginable was happening.
There was nothing I could do.
In the daylight, I saw their faces, and they were no different from ours.
At night, I cannot imagine what it was like for them.
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When the music started, it meant something to me.
It always made me feel closer to you and still does.
I do know it meant something different to you.
An unrequited attention that somehow works,
Because if it doesn't, then I have nothing.
Do you remember it the way that I do?
Do you know that you did inspire me, and that is nothing.
That is amazing.
It is a treasure I will always hold.
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