Here, on this rock,
you and I once stood.
You wrapped your strong
and able arms
around my shaking
and frail body.
I stand alone now,
but by choice
(I left you at home,
asleep in bed).
It was that summer.
Those few, fleeting
moments before an inevitable
departure.
We jumped over the
raging river,
so quick-footed
as we leapt from
rock to rock.
I slipped and fell,
landing with a few choice words
(my foot getting lodged
between two boulders,
my shin smashing into
the rock).
We laughed about it
later as you wrapped
my leg in gauze
and promised not
to crack jokes
if I walked with
a limp.

That scar on my shin
still hasn’t faded,
and I suppose it will stay
as a reminder of
our time together.