From the bridge, the city looked as if you could scoop it with cupped hands.

She was no longer the damsel of the big screen and the big words, but rather a specter cloaked in symbols and metaphors to the individual imagination, a stubborn unreality one refuses to let go of. Slain by the weight of a thousand ideals, battered by the strengths of our youths and impracticalities, she became less of a charmer and more of a chain to the disilussioned dreamer. Stoic as her statue still, yet tired and wrinkled, she could no longer feed our fire with her bright lights, her innocuous flame.

-gypsywrites

Rainy Nights

My love lives in moments that have nothing to show for themselves,
Like that one time we were part of a play your friend had written;
You played five seconds of Come Together on your guitar,
I played the xylophone for the first time,
Chiming away, like bells on Christmas Eve.
You held my hand all night,
Let me rest my head on your shoulder,
Give you short kisses on your sleeves
         Every once in a while,
And every time you looked at me you smiled,
With a tenderness that spelled love with no vocabulary,
The edge of your smile crating dimples on your cheek.

The walk home past midnight,
Eyes heavy, shoes wet,
Cold.
Getting stoned on our bed,
Eating granola bars and BJs donuts,
Watching family guy out of your phone (this was the time of no computers),
Drinking milk like little kids,
Shutting the door to let the others sleep,
And to keep ourselves for each other.
Only.
Moments that have nothing to show for themselves other than a mutual laugh
     Or two,
An inside joke about our toes,
Minutes spent aroused by the sound of words like freckles,
(Your freckled shoulders always turn me on)
Rubbing our noses against each other like baby cats,
And falling asleep buried in your arms as you wrote your novel.
You always did what I wish I could have done.
But I loved you still and more,
Because rain tapped against the window pane like corn kettle,
(Remember the time we disagreed about that simile?)
And I had the night, a roof, and a closed door
To keep ourselves to each other.
Only.

-LBCH