The air felt like childhood against my bare skin, as if the wind was going to blow back the times, ever so lightly. Even now I still play pretend, you know, every white lie, each censored sentence, too familiar counterfeit smiles.
But for now this, only this, is it. This is the world falling apart and coming back together.
We stood there in your driveway like the distracted kids we wished we still were, popsicles forgotten in our hands, desire dripping down our forearms, orange and sweet, summer has left indelible stains on my skin. we watched the sun fall down and felt sad, a little.
I’m not sentimental—I’m as romantic as you are. The idea, you know, is that the sentimental person thinks things will last—the romantic person has a desperate confidence that they won’t.
