I remember going to Wilson Park in the dead of winter.
The way the air smelled of the previous snow
and how I could smell the distant scent of pizza.
I remember empty taste the cold left in my mouth
almost like ice water.
The swing's touch, freezing cold,
but familiar as always.
I remember looking at the small lake ahead,
how the front half was covered in ice.
Each time I recall this memory, I remember the loneliness,
absorbing the calming yet almost bleak space.
It was almost as if I had seen an old friend,
but forgotten who they were.
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