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it takes all my strength not to dig you up from the ground in which you lay  

Fresh air.

We sat there on the old train tracks, watching lazily as ghostly headlights haunted the trees ahead. Passed the glass life saver between us. An idea of family bonding. But while they trapped the clouds in their lungs, I thought of you. I feel it the most when I am away. I think of all of the touches I recycle nightly, hoping to feel you again. To feel that young again, to drain the rainy days that loom under my eyes. The feeling is puzzling. I want to go back when everything felt new, and not like every next one is just a more and more generic brand of you. They can sell the pretty face gimmick to the girls with no brains and lesser clothing, but I won’t buy in any longer. I want to be the toothy grin trapped forever in glossy frames with you.