Before you, I never knew an "us."
I came and left as I pleased because I could.
Understanding it didn't hurt me to do so. At all.
Maybe the people I met felt a different connection.
Maybe the weather was brighter for them and the colors more vivid.

Then, in the middle of the sweltering summer heat, you were there.
Wearing a Casio watch that also functioned as a calculator with a half-smoked cigarette in your fingers, nails painted black.
You were so, you. Raw. Unfabricated.

And I loved it.
I loved you.

How we chain-smoked cigarettes and how you wrapped your arms around my waist while I heard the most euphoric laugh ever.

I wish I realized how similar we were. That for us, this was a first.
To wake up so early to meet someone and feel as if each step gets lighter as we near. To whisper in the dark while being unable to close the proximity between us, but feeling the tension of needing to.

You were not another piece on the chessboard.
For me you were real.
And I can't bring myself to provoke a conversation, but I’m thankful.
And wish I could’ve gotten to know “us” longer.