I worked the midnight shift last night. It was the sort of night where you body feels so heavy that your mind just starts floating away. I was exhausted, worn. Sleep reached for my heart like a vigilante reaching for a gun, and I couldn't stop thinking of you.
You filled my head with poetry.
I could write something beautiful, that it was a clear night and the stars were out, that the moon shone above me like a love song in the sky. But it wasn't. The clouds were low and heavy and the streetlights painted the sky orange.
It was the kind of night that makes you feel trapped. The kind when there's no one alive but you, no sound but your heartbeat, a wolf howling and a siren in the distance. The kind when I decided that the world isn't big enough for us. The nights that turn into sunrises the sunrises that break apart the horizon and pull the breath from your lungs.
You know the nights I'm talking about.
The nights when the wind lashed our lips like we were sky-sailing to the stars. The nights for trespassing, for climbing buildings and laughing at our vertigo. For singing too late and smiling too much. The nights for falling in love some day.
For cross dressing and throwing up our hands at the world. For holding hands and falling down and flying away, talking to strangers and stumbling through life.
The nights where we realized maybe we don't have to grow up, and maybe we'll last forever. When we held those perfect moments up to a match and struck a chord.
The nights when we set the world on fire.
Sometimes, when I'm feeling brave, I'm not afraid of growing up. Because you gave me the best childhood there ever was.
At 1:43 I saw a shooting star. Instead of wishing, I whispered your name.