Memories (FICTION)

I remember, I remember,

It was in the late September,

...But perhaps it was November?

Each dying ember lay beneath the snow.

No, I do not wish to speak of Poe.

We may have things in common, though, you know?

But the memory I have is of so long ago.

I was a child, perhaps less so than now. 

You stood above me, and you kissed my brow. 

How that kiss disturbs me now.

But that is not my memory still!

Tonight, I listen only to my will.

And my brain churning, like the blades of a mill.

I was a little girl back then.

I wore my hair in pigtails, when

I fell in love with you. Yes, you, Stan!

You broke my heart - you were  a grown man.

You saw me only as a child,

A small thing, that runs around, wild.

Yet my heart melted each time you smiled. 

I was very sick that day, yes. 

You came over, I believe to play chess;

or so I remember in all of this mess.

At that moment, I considreed myself blessed.

You spoke my name, Stan, so beautifully,

I imagined what ties we could have, lawfully.

You were my prince, then, allegorically.

Life was so easy back then, literally.

I want to go back to those childhood days.

I want to see my life in a kind of haze. 

I want life to be one big playful maze. 

I want to awaken upon your gaze.

But you lie in your grave, silently.

While gray creeps into my hair violently.

What a life has been wasted on me.