When the air in our backyard grows mushy and warm
The rain arrives in a rush
My right ankle cries out in a familiar voice
I miss you, in a familiar way.
Winters might be lonely but monsoons are melancholic like no other season, perhaps.
Had I treated my wound sooner
I don't know if I'd meet you like I did one autumn
But here are my broken bones,
Here are my bouts of pain
Here are my chronic reminders of living a life, almost.
The backyard has seen many things over the years
Before my mother met my father,
The way she did one autumn.
Grandma and her roses
My mother and her touch-me-nots
And a plentiful of storms
I remember the two papaya trees parallel to the ground
Lying like two friends tired after a day of playing in the sun.
I could have been the nurturing kind
Turned the backyard into a fine garden
Painted with flowers of the prettiest kinds
And so on. 
Instead I simply look at the scattered vegetation
And the heap of bricks someone kept there for future use.
I build no life of mine. I try to demolish
Whatever I remember of you.
Perhaps you were right, I am creative,
Creating impossible problems for myself.
But I survived a cold winter in a city that wasn't home
Lovesick and strong
I have survived in ways that are small and huge
A lot like you said you did.
Tonight as the weather grows cold and my bones have stopped howling
I make a wish
Not to remember to forget you
But to remove any need for wiping the memories,
To welcome the one who is at my door
Who is nothing like you
And so much more.
An ugly backyard is still green
And you and I are still memories that once lit up our hearts.
I miss you in a quite pleasant way now, I think,
Winter takes over monsoon like a grown-up firstborn.
My mother gifts me a cactus to keep me company
You travel to someone else's heart,
I hope.