Only you'd be brighter

I would hold you, but that heat sinks in, binding our flesh and throwing us into that maelstrom and I remember how at one time you said you’d give me the world and I refused (I would rather have you).

I’m waiting for you against cold tile, underground, under city, under busy lives and business suits, waiting for the green to spark and light up every morning of almost every day- you’re dead to the world but I don’t care. You’re there and all I can think about is that escalators aren’t nearly long enough.

I would give you everything, as many firsts and lasts as you could think of, but would there be anything left for you to love?

And now I’m waiting for more daylight hours and rain. A storm, far away from the crowds and heat, is the stage and we’re the play, one about drenched kisses and long walks, stuff of trashy romance novels but far more real when it’s with you and far less cliché.

Summer would soon roll around and we’d be apart until our eyes burned from late-night conversations with computer screens, waiting for excuses to slink away into July heat in hopes of finding each other, possibly guided by patriotic fireworks that only happen once a year. I’d lie to myself and say they were for us.

Maybe the fireworks would set themselves in the sky like a burning, white-hot blossom and the sparks would stay ignited until they reached the ground, dancing in puddles and amongst our feet, sizzled into oblivion by spectators that push us out of the way.

Despite the fact that they stare at us with the entire gamut of human emotion, they’re still blind.