Elysian Fields and Future Words
The boy she loved lives in Elysian Fields, taken too soon, all the shared future words but memories in her journal.
She felt her first grown-up thought was how terribly young he looked, grinning uncomfortably in his green dress uniform, pulling at the collar, blushing with each “cute” comment.
After he left, for a desert cultures away, only words remained. She heard them. Knew him well enough to discern fear. Wished for his hand, his warmth, his teasing, their banter, sepia summer afternoons, chasing fireflies, a do-over of their days.
Now he’s in Elysian Fields, leaving her lonely with future words.