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I never know how long it will last.

Only a moment.

Maybe longer.

Maybe the crowd understands, the way the people part for me, and the girl.

And the lights in the trees – the ones spiraling up the bark and into the leaves – make the photo I snap with my memory more glossy, less ordinary.

And her look, her eyes, her hair that she straightened just for me fill me half way, not to the brim because there must be room for more.

More drives.

More songs.

More nights so cold that my shoulder becomes her perfect ember.

I warm her with my arms, using my lips to thaw any uncertainty that may have frozen her on the spot.

And there she is, with me in the outdoor mall, her hand holding the gifts I bought her and my chest heaving, falling, the December torrents guiding both of us to the new year as the moon hangs low, spilling into the ocean, while I stand there, finished with shopping, her fingers the handles I hold at my side.

And the night breathes winter for us.

And the sun, hours and hours away, waits to give me the highlights of a new day… and the waking thoughts of those green eyes I sometimes call blue.

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2 thoughts on “Third Street

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