The dirt beneath my fingernails, it makes me feel like a kid again in school digging for stones and hidden treasure while on my lunch break. The unposted letters I keep meaning to send you, they sing your name and yours only waiting for the day when they glimpse your angel face. The fountain in the old town that never seemed to work, and the steps up that winding hillside that led to yours. Maybe one day I’ll walk them again. Maybe one day we’ll go together and look at the past and pick up twigs and try to figure out what it all means. It means nothing of course, but that won’t stop us, and nor should it. I’ll light up a smoke and inspect a landscape of parking lots and retail parks while you keep an eye out for small animals in need of food and companionship. Those twigs, perhaps we’ll use them to build a shrine where we can worship all of our dead dreams, or maybe we’ll make a den for all the mice that need someplace to take shelter from these cold evenings that never seem to shift. Stars and stars, and then, something, followed by more and more endless stars. Your lips that glisten under a lone streetlight, and the echoes of my laughter as you chase me through the aisles of a supermarket. Those around us don’t know of our magic. They wouldn’t be able to figure it out even if they tried. Wrapping my dirty fingers around your neck, I push you against a display of freshly baked bread, and when you say that you want me, the world stops spinning and there’s only us. Maybe we’ll spend the evening sat together out in the open just looking up at the sky. Maybe we’ll talk about love, but then again, the love we share doesn’t need to be contained by mere words. It should flow like water, shapeless and without form. Perhaps the animals will come and sit with us, nestling their little noses against our bodies for warmth, and when they do, the love in our eyes will find the only witness it needs. And then? And then more stars. Those endless, endless stars.