The night we danced on your grandparents’ roof while the sun went down
I thought to myself, “could it ever get any better than this?”
We loved each other as much as any fifteen-year-olds could,
Painting each other’s toenails sunflower yellow in the middle of June.
I said “forever” for the first time that night and meant it.
I lost myself in an endless summer,
Drinking the rest of your dad’s tequila in the pantry with the lights off
And giggling like he’d never find out.
We walked around with our chests puffed out
And talked like we knew something nobody else did.
You referred to me as your “beloved” and everybody laughed,
My sweaty hand never left yours
And, even just for a little while,
We owned the night.
You lit a fire in me and I tamed one in you.
Sometimes my heart still aches for the person I thought you were.
You are not God, and this room is not burning.
You wanted love in shackles and I gave it to you,
Willingly (or not).
For four years, you were everything.
And even though life is long,
I still wish I spent less of mine with you.