We’re holding hands
Its nice being here again

Where we’re good.

The problems of “you” and “me”
Are the problems of “us”,
And we’re okay with that, here.

Your skin smells
Of almond
(like always),
And I steal a sniff
And smile wide,

We’ll walk
Fingers still locked,
Palms fighting the truth,
And spend all day
With light conversation,
Spilling from eager mouths

All at a tempo we can’t possibly keep.

We’ll finally saunter
Into the night,
Pulled into reality
And I’ll drop your hand

Because here
I hate how you insist
On shoving stars
And you find me weak
For being addicted
To burdens



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