I almost forgot the smooth coolness
of your dinner table where the light brown wood
has suffered only two cracks,
barely noticeable to the eye,
and where we feasted heartily
around the round edges to celebrate
our joy.

I almost forgot to remember
the purple candle that stood alone
in the center of the cake, which your mother bought
at the supermarket five minutes away
only moments before.

But now I remember that purple candle
which stood beneath a small
flickering flame of fire
that melted droplets
of wax onto the delicacy beneath it
and cast a glow over your bright smile
and shining eyes.

A moment of childish joy that seems so far behind,
almost lost
in the deep recesses of my mind,
now feels so close, pulled in by nostalgia and
bittersweet longing for a flicker of the past.

My memory is only a polaroid away.