poem written by Remi Feldman

I was always destined to love our little Newport cabin.

With its low-hanging ceiling and even lower hanging lights you always managed to hit your head on,

A quaint bathroom with a shower door so tiny we would peek over to see each other’s faces,

White curtains that don’t fully open and a fridge full of unopened Dasani water bottles,

Matching stained-glass lamps on the bedside tables that gave off a yellowy glow, perfect for reading the latest James Patterson and for you to reread Leaves of Grass.

Our bed with floral linens fit for the old married couple we would hopefully be. The tiny kitchen that that I hoped would be filled with us trying recipes from places we were planning to travel to,

Living room with our laptops and intertwined chargers and suitcases overflowing with our belongings,

Shared space, a vacuum for us to live in a world of our own, an attempt at our future.

Being able to watch you drift asleep, while hugging my waist

Waking up to look into your eyes that share the color of the crashing waves outside

The smell of waffles cooking and the sounds of soft jazz mixes with the smell of your generic, shampoo

The nervousness of the unknown sunk into the beige plaster,

I knew I would be too much for you;

You knew you could never fill that emptiness inside me;

We always knew we had an expiration date, but we tried anyways, Clutching at an idea we want so badly to be a reality.

But I was all too fast, too strong, too unrealistic for you to stay

And if I had the chance to return to it again

I would lock the sliding doors

And close the blinds

Keep you tucked in the bedsheets next to me

I would do anything to preserve what we had

In our little Newport cabin.