So the weather is turning 
and you’re searching 
for someone to save you 
but not everything comes in the shape 
of a hero or a god or your favorite childhood memory. 
Sometimes it’s an apocalyptic fever
dream or worse. Sometimes I remember the look
on your face in the doorway
as the confession jumped from my tongue
like a lovelorn man from a bridge,
hands shaking all the way down
and not from the cold. 
I remember the hall light flickering—
a jack-o-lantern in late June. 
What is time? 
Why do I only remember fragments 
of what happens at the end? 
I think we remember what we want. 
I want to remember your laugh, 
the sound I came to know 
as an answered prayer. 
I want to remember you just like this.

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Nicholas Olah has self-published four poetry collections and his work appears in Humana Obscura, The Poetry Lighthouse, Querencia Press, Sky Island Journal, Thimble Literary Magazine, and more. Olah is a 2x Pushcart Prize nominee. Check out more of his work on Instagram at @nick.olah.poetry.