The Memories of Last Summer

I didn't want it to end like this.

Like intertwining strings on braids, we were inseparable.

Through that open garage door, we played our instruments over cicadas' calls. Drums shouted. Guitars chattered. Violins sang. We had fun.

Days passed with familiar hollers from that garage. At least, until the last day of summer break.

Winds babbled, leaves responded.

We took silent footsteps to the train station. Two hands waved as they were left behind.

Like intertwining strings on braids, without the knot holding us together, we are but gears of a broken clock, waiting for time to move once more.