we don’t talk about them much
the ones who taught our hearts
how to mispronounce forever.

they smelled like folded dresses,
faintly of naphthalene
and said things like always
and promise
and meant it
until they didn’t.

and now every song
is a door we don’t open,
every photograph
a city we can’t go back to.

but god
for a moment
didn’t it feel
like we invented love?