It was a Summer Night.

Who wants to run until the sun goes out?  

Well, I’d like to too, but for now we’ll have to settle for the campfire.  

We’ll run around like lost boys and pretend we’ll never grow up.  

Meanwhile, the flames will turn to embers and the only thing left to hope for will be a golden brown marshmallow for the perfect s’more.  

Oblivious to the setting sun, we will laugh with the crickets.  

But at the end of the night it will be dark and we will be alone.  

So I ask you, when we are left with only the ashes, how do we decide where to put them?

 


I wrote that a month after my father died.

I was 17 and I had no idea how deep that really was.

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