darjeelingxhoney:

We sat at the water’s edge. Farther down, the orchestra had just finished playing their finale, and the crowd erupted in patriotic applause. If I listened closely, the harmony of William Tell Overture still undulated within the obsidian waves.

We were getting close, you said.

You tasted (too) sweet like the ice cream we shared earlier. My leg felt restless from sitting awkwardly on the scratchy blanket. You told me to lay my head down on your lap. It was my first time, after all, and you wanted me to have the “true” experience.

Fireworks were sent screaming above us. Like a child in a planetarium reaching for the simulated night sky, I could almost touch their scorching contrails, the smoke passing through my fingers. I could almost feel the raw heat of their burst metallic shells across my face. You had caressed my cheek, where I have a childhood scar. Sparks rained down on us and fell into the quiet river.

A little over six months ago we were nothing, and now you held my head on your lap. Your other arm rested routinely across my chest, as if this were ordinary, as if clockwork not unlike these fireworks every 4th of July.

The fireworks reminded me of you. The way they crackle, sizzle, and pop. That’s how you once were. Your laughter, explosive from the bottom of your belly, would rattle your bones and ignite me. Your temper was no different.

When it was over, I wished I could have gathered the smoky remnants into my memory. From there, I could rebuild the image of your silhouette against a red, gold, and purple sky. Your chin, upturned and strong, and your eyes lit up every few seconds in a flash of ephemeral brilliance.