I remember the snow that day,

which soon turned into a blizzard.

I remember telling you,


“buckle your seatbelt”


you never did.

I remember the weatherman stressing,


“everyone should stay off the roads”


but we were already half-way home.

I remember feeling the car tires slip.

I remember a snow covered boot slamming down on the brake,



I remember you trying to regain control,

but it was all lost.

I remember blinding headlights of another car

racing towards us,


I remember you screaming my name.


My last words to you echoed in my ears.


“buckle your seatbelt”


I remember sitting helplessly,

hands slipping as if they were made of ice.

I remember the world going silent,

and then dark.


I remember regaining consciousness,

wailing sirens,

scintillating red lights.

I remember paramedics hovering

above me,

their words just white noise,

all I could think about was you.

I remember seeing you,

or what was left of you.

I remember feeling–sudden,


stabbing pain,

But numb at the same time.


I remember your funeral,

a phalanx of people dressed in black.

I keep remembering,

But I try to forget.