Midnight at Camerhogne Park,
stargazing under the vast Caribbean sky,
warmed by the gentle night breeze.

Days at BBC Beach,
swimming in the crystal blue sea,
to the sound of crashing waves.

Evenings at Quarantine Point,
watching the sun disappear into the horizon,
the sky; a painted hue of orange and red.

Mornings in your arms,
feeling your chest rise and fall,
the perfect unsullied moment.

Our past overflows with memories.
With moments of us,
with who we used to be
when we were young.
When we found our own paths,
and chose our existence.
When we ignored the troubles of the world,
and yesterday’s failures were a forgotten dream.

There is an us before the bills and responsibilities,
before the kids and their rigid schedules,
before the days of toiling and endless obligations,
and nights of aches and pains.

Now, the memories are all we have
of a time long ago,
of who we used to be.

Editor: Shannon Hensley