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It's haunting to date in Chicago,
where the ghost of us yet lingers.

I dream of a universe where all of
our dates replay endlessly,
and that terrifies me,
but I also find comfort in thinking
that somewhere in the vagueness
of a sunset we wander the river
endlessly in love.
Kyra Jul 27
when did i first fall in love with you?

was it under the never ending skies in chicago?
in those cruel winter nights
where only you kept me warm.
or was it amidst the song of crickets and breeze?
in the summers of virginia
where even you would sing along.
amy zhang Jul 13
remember?

that moment
all those years ago
on that warm summer night
back in Chicago
on top of that bridge

its back arching against the moonlight’s laughter
her glow beaming along his dark surface
the gentle lap of his stream against her pale fingers
kisses of silver along his dark body

and

we were there

to watch

as our reflections against world

rippled

falling apart
and together

once more
badtaste Jun 2
I've seen it all...
the deserted
become the damaged
burning themselves against
a graffiti sanctuary
called
heaven's wall.
never going back to that underpass...
Bidrangea May 23
There we were
Watching the sun paint colors across the sky
The whole city right below our feet
My head rested on your shoulder
Our breaths in sync
Both hearts beating as if it were one
It was in this moment I knew I loved you
Juhlhaus Feb 28
He was asking for something,
I took out an earbud to hear what.
He was born ten years after me
But looked ten years older.
He told me I'd never been in jail,
Never been homeless.
He asked if I knew
How he knew.
I said, "Good guesses."
He told me I looked different from other people,
Said there was no fear in my eyes.
He was proud of knowing so much about me.
But there was more he did not know,
Such as what makes me different
And why there is no fear in my eyes.
Megan Hammer Feb 12
As I listen to Otis Redding on the harbor, boats named after people float around;
Boats named by fishermen who think just a little too much.
They come out everyday like Hemingway Jrs; the old men and their sea.

December does not feel right here: It’s not the same without a Chicago winter,
But this harbor’s got my father on my mind.

He used to run numbers for a local casino & now he writes numbers in a sudoku box on Sundays.
The days of wild adventure on the streets of Germany are what he sees when he looks at his beer mugs.

and when he’s had a little Heineken, Marlboro, and a spin of his record player,
I know that no one else should be in the room.

He shows his thoughts in photos: His winters spent coming back home to feed his family,
Keeping warm in a house with one heater, snow, noses blown in hankies, Uncle Frankie,
Harry playing jazz in the living room, and walking to school in the cold.

But there are no photos of him - and there wouldn’t be -
When he snuck away to the harbor with his friends.
We tend not to talk about them anymore, but he still remembers where they lived.

And sometimes, I catch a glimpse of him - with his Heineken and his Marlboro and his music -
I catch him as he smiles in hiding while his eyes confide in a light I do not see,
And when I do,
I know that my father is still on that harbor.
Juhlhaus Feb 5
Even though I walked for an hour
In the snow melt mist
Threading my boots
Through the brown salt muck and flotsam
Winter's junk food wrappers
The city just stared vacantly
At its own face in the lake ice
Seemingly as uninspired as me
Not every day can be poetic, right?
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