Hearts banging against our chests, wind in our hair. Familiar ground beneath our pounding feet, the smell of pavement after it rains. There is so much I want to say.
If I look too closely at the shape of you alongside me, I see through the cracks. I see the one you used to be.
I see a time when your hand would always find mine, a time when distant was just another word for describing anyone but us. I see a boy so golden he puts the sun to shame.
When I start to slow, when the rhythm of this escape becomes faint, you turn to me and urge me to move forward.
And in the back of my throat, I feel rising a nostalgia so rousing it burns me from the inside out. As you pull me through the new, I see what we truly are. Here lies his way into me.
He lies his way into me. I cannot be tempted.
Love is a knife that pries the world apart to reveal two at the molten center. Love is a hand that was made for you to hold.
Love is losing yourself in someone without realizing that they are lost themselves. Love is a fall so profound it seems as though you will never reach the end. I can see the end. We are not love.
Hearts banging in two separate chests, the wind against us. New ground punished by these footsteps, the sky is open and blue and unforgiving.
I have words that became secrets before I ever spoke them.
You and I.