The Last Summer

The fingers press against the grooves and marks of the wood,
and you remember again the last time you met each other.
another day in summer that you spent in the fields,
because you were young and unafraid,
and fearless.
he hugged you with tears of salt streaming steadily down his face,
"i'll see you again in the winter."
you both wailed like the children you were,
and he gave you his dad's old wooden car that still had working wheels.
then he left just as he came,
with hands and nose pressed eagerly against the car windows,
breath fogging up the glass.
winter came and the wind howled its first scream of the year.
you can still remember the hurt,
because he never came.
so you wrote letters and sent emails,
emails that were never opened and never replied to.
and you cried.
then time catches up with you again,
so you're left with only the touch of wood.