The More Things Change

These are the kind of nights that make me remember,

with the smell of burning wood wafting through the air and weaving its way through the trees

and the summer air now cool, vivid, and alive.

They make me remember the butterflies,

the cooling sweat slicked across my skin that smelled of dirt and something else sweet,

and how we used to be happy.

They also make me remember how much I've changed, too.