You want to be in it, but also wouldn't mind letting it go - feels dear and sad at the same time, that which is lost,
lost - the past, can it be lost, you ask now.

You find a pair of canvas shoes with short ankle cuffs in the drawer under the bed. The edges of the cuffs are now yellow and stiff. There is still a sock in each of the shoes. She wore them all that summer.

In a cupboard you find the ball he played with, and there are wetsuits hanging there. One still has a price tag on it. On the shelf are his caps, each wrapped in the next.

You miss the time when they vacationed with you, and you wonder if you appreciated it enough, if you laughed enough, if it's ungrateful to mourn lost time, and if you can be sure to remember everything.

You don't have an easy time getting rid of your chest tightness, and you are convinced, that it is much easier for others.

You will eventually gain patience with the question:
"Do you remember...?"