Bereft

Written for a creative writing prompt on Earliest Childhood Memory:

Inseparable as twins,

now I stand pressed;

the screen door is not

the only thing between us.

In my dreams, I fly out

this door and over trees

but Mom says “Stay,”

and so I do.

Days of summer come to end:

You leave me, quickly

skipping, hopping, taking

those steps away from me.

The bus here now,

it swallows you whole;

not even a wave,

while I wait here, bereft.

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