Do you remember when you promised me we'd catch fireflies? You said we'd put them in glass jars, and hang them from the branches above our heads, so they'd illuminate the shadows, and we could breathe in the light. Then you said we'd set them free, because all creatures should be free, and we'd breathe in the shadows, and watch for shooting stars.
Do you remember when you promised me we'd stargaze on that hill? And when they tried to make us come in, when they tried to make us leave just after the sun had tipped off the edge of the horizon and the sky was still blue, you took my hand and pointed it up. "There's a star," you said. And you looked at me, and I knew you meant that you would always keep your promises.
Sometimes I see you in my dreams. You are walking by on the sidewalk, fast. You are the waiter in a restaurant. I never recognize your face until after I wake up. Then I cry because I have so many things to say to you, but you're gone.