It was vibrant,
In a nostalgia-dipped way.
The evening was a blur of
Floral shirts, black pants, and
Laughter that bubbled over like
A glass filled to the brim
With sickly sweet carbonation.
Memories circulate in the images of
Indigo Jackets, and Alien ball caps;
Sitting by the water,
Feet dangling off the east side of the tiny bridge
And words flitting about on the wind-
Mumbles about the future and the past.
Imagine the feeling,
The raw emotion and uncertainty,
As You tell someone of the memories that haunt you,
And they tell you of their torments,
Leaning forward on your arms, swinging your shoes over the side,
As they are laying back on the wooden planks, unafraid of splinters.
A Sigh:
An escape of breath that sends the wind scattering.
Puffs the air, turning it white in the cold.
Peace.
But the peace goes deeper than a slow bat of eyelashes
And the inclination of a head
Towards the one beside you
The deepness of the euphoria-
The colony of butterflies that have taken residence
Inside your stomach-
They no longer flutter uncontrollably,
But float along to a soft melody
Keeping time with the electricity
That hums through your fingertips
As he passes you the book.
The book that olds all his secrets,
All his dreams and creations;
And he is trusting you with it.
And those butterflies
They continue their looping dance
Still smooth, increasingly rapid
They Twirl,
Spiraling down into your gut
But still calm, like a babbling brook.
Chaos, oh, the soft chaos is
Overtaken by the beauty of the entirety.