I met you during my power cut
in the nineteen nineties.
You with red ribbons, blonde French plaits
and lots of sweets
were dreaming about love.

I was reading the good book
With my grandma.
In my brothers red hand-me-down tracksuit
planning how best to get to heaven.

I loved you.
I would have loved to keep you.
But we don’t talk at all now.
Life is like that.
Hope you’re well.