you scratched our initials into the surface of the polished wooden table behind Redlight Redlight with the key to my heart.
P + S.
a brief message etched in time for all to see. you grinned up at me when you'd finished, ombré fluttering slightly in the evening breeze, and said, unabashedly, "it was the first thing that popped into to my head."
P.S.
sometimes, i still think of how your hands clung insistently to my windbreaker when we sat on the pier, how our bodies synced in quiet harmony.