Dali

Should you ask me where I would go if I could. I would say, Capilano. My head has been suspended there since I was there last. My memories, too—the ones they tell me to forget and move on from.

I bet the river still whispers my name there. Or perhaps weeps for my bare feet running across the rainforest and my laughter rippling through it seamlessly.

In Capilano, I tasted a brand of dopamine they don’t sell at pharmacies. Called childhood. I was a child then with knuckles white, hanging onto the railings as the bridge rocked from right to left and from left to right…

In Capilano, I was young, naive, and happy.

If you need me, I’ll be down at Capilano. Where the trees are that olive green I can’t seem to forget. Even if I wanted to. And sometimes, I really do want to.