There is a sterile white package at my door,

it beckons me to peer inside,

but I can not gamble perfection.

I can not unzip your dress,

or break your heart.

I am afraid.

I know you've learned to fear,

what you do not know,

what you do not understand.

Maybe you should.

I have lived in fear,

of love,

of being loved.

I met you in paper,

and wrote you down.

I am not ashamed.

remember here?

she stretches her arms wide across the stone bridge, spilling over with profanities and graffiti, red and white and magenta and black, crumbling away at its gritty edges, glossed in dirt and tossed gravel. 

i tell her:

here is where we first walked. here is where we came when we were sick of the attention, all the irises poking out between blades of grass. oh, how the wilting sunlight hid our skin beneath its shade. oh, how we were grateful for its mask. 

here is where we were unleashed. here is where we set ourselves free. here is where we were over-exposed on film. bathed in heat and glory, here we stood, gods who forgot their identities for a day, and decided to live and let go.

i remember,

i tell her.

this is where we first-

i know.