• And we waited in the shadow, a little way out of the lamplight that beamed a yellow-orange circle on the darkened cement. It was as if, there we were, outside of our limelight for the stage, our audience nothing more than just few blades of grass, the hot air our atmosphere in a thick and heavy draw curtain of humidity... There was tension all right, and the embrace shot electricity though our spines, painting an intimate but powerful brushstroke on the blackened tapestry. For that's what it was: Us in the dark, holding each other, the radiant circle we chose not to stand in, in fear our humble night might be stolen away from our clandestine bond.

    We heard the bugs drone on, in that wet air we felt nothing but the tightness of each other's arms. Your burning tears fell down to the concrete in a sporadic shower... an angel's own tears blessing the ground so low. I could feel the disbelief in your grasp, clutching at the intangible, the unexpected... the absurd. I could hear the syncopated breath, ragged in its draws, stuttering in its exhale. It was all really poetic, in a beautiful and natural way. It wasn't adulterated by performance, it wasn't altered by premeditation; it breathed reality into a wonderful form... into a beautiful plant that blossomed in the night.

    As if we were Gatsby and Daisy.

    There we waited. An eternity of emotions, but too little a time in retrospect. May time have stood still; I would have died in your embrace, in the heat and dark, my comfort you. There was a soft dancing in the cooling breeze, as your disbelief turned into realization, blooming into acceptance. I could feel the smile on your fiery mouth, skin as burning as a homely fireplace, radiating with intimacy and familiarity. The embrace settled into that of thankful squeezes, and a failing poise. Your legs grew weak, and upright I held you, knowing it was the only thing I ever longed to do.

    It was an orange moon overhead. It was always watching us. We were the actors, and it was the grand conductor, the director. The maestro was conducting the grand symphony, together we played in euphony not so much as faltering in the perfect portrait.

    But it was I who charmed you into tears.

    And after the final harmony, we stepped into the light to show all who dared look upon us. Our midnight finale soared through it all, in defiance and rebellion. There wasn't a single soul who could demolish the bond we sutured. Not one soul, not ten, not one-hundred, not one-thousand... or a million, or half of that, or half of even one, no, not anything. We sealed it in silver, and it shown of a much-adored humbleness. I saw your face, and it burst with all the right colors and all the right tones, a true masterpiece that you presented to me after I worked so quietly in the shadows for it.

    As the bus came closer, you quietly shouted out your infinity, and I called back with a time to outlive diamonds. And you whispered your forever, and I my likewise.



    The toll was the radiating happiness, the joyous tears, and the look of belonging upon your face; we rode free, for sympathy's pocketbook is never empty. And we set ourselves back on the ground, back down from the cloud we built oh so high up in nothingness, it seemed that the descending steps were in itself their own eternity. I still remember.

    And we rode off, leaving your blessed tears on the sidewalk, a little out of the street light, amid the thick and heavy air and the sonorous chirps of the cicadas and grass-hoppers.