The smell of smoke is strong and my dog's hiding behind the sofa. I'm barefoot in the veranda, ridiculously expensive wine in hand.

The sky is dark
but often lit by sparks.

Boom.

There's a flash of light.

Boom.

I remember how your hands grasped mine.
Boom.

Pretty fireworks.

Boom.

You looked only at me, told me I was prettier.

And just like that, every New Year's was us.
I still think about how it was back then.
How it was not quite movie romantic.
There was no background music.
If there were no fireworks, the explosive sounds could make it feel like a war zone. But we wouldn't have cared anyway. Because amidst all the noise and smoke, you kissed my lips and suddenly I didn't need movie romance or background music. Millions were spent on fireworks designed to stain the sky with colors but somehow I could look only at you.
Even now, I still search for you. I miss out on the the sky's ostentatious display and I know it's pathetic but just for a moment I want to remember what it felt like to be yours.
How your lips tasted like strawberry champagne.
How your skin felt when you linked our arms together.
How you pressed your lips against my forehead and we both closed our eyes.
After New Year's, when the dust has cleared and the sky is just the sky, I belong to myself again. I wash my wine glass and ignore the fact that I'm all alone. I cannot help but wonder if you're thinking of me too when the black sky was momentarily yellow or green or red.
Perhaps we're apart, but watching the moon.
But, until next New Years, we'll go our separate paths again.