The Red Table

There is no wind
As sun glistens through stoic clouds.
Wrappers and pages of torn homework
Litter concrete,
A place desolate after dark.
It rings in my ears
Years after years
Like an old friend
Who I hugged and whispered,
Goodbye.

Dirt has collected on our old spot,
The red surface not cleaned
By my laughter,
Or your smile.
A circle we created of life
Now empty, since
Our lack of presence renders it useless.
Nostalgia coated in water drops
Is enough to say,
I miss you.