when you find the time
to take me back
to times like these,
i will wait for you underneath the yellow oak tree.
i will sit beneath thousands of constellations,
and watch you paint dragonflies into the sky -
as if the colours splattered around your palette
were taken from the stars, themselves.
i will run against the midnight breeze,
and gaze ahead as your shadow wraps itself around mine.
i will keep a close eye on the moon
for fear of it fading too fast.
(i still believe it would not dare.)
and when the dawn shatters the night's blank canvas,
we will burn out quietly,
not with a bang
but with a whisper meant to be heard
only by those who dare
to listen.