You know how it goes…
by Bonnie Pockley
There are moments when time collapses, folds in on itself, rushes in. It’s the little things that do it. Smell. Taste. Touch. The gentle breeze that falls over the lip of the window sill and brushes against your cheek. The sharp smart of a bit tongue that tastes like the ocean and those nights long ago when you sat on the shore and wished for home. Tu me manques.* You know how it goes. Those songs that sound like summer and the smell of lilac that in a moment, makes you believe that everything, after all, will be okay.
You know how it goes…when time collapses, folds in on itself, rushes in…
And those old photographs that enrapture
You know how it goes.
* Translates: I miss you/ you are missing from me (literal).