These L.A. lights
     There's smoke, everywhere.
     Laughter, everywhere.
     "Pokemon! Remember Pokemon? And Dragonball Z!"
     People talking over each other in their eagerness. Everyone listening to everyone.
     "I don't want them posed!"
     "You don't want the Fire Queen to pose?"
     Arms outstretched to hold the fire, the brilliant bursts in the sky, in my hands. I feel like I could, now.
     It's impossible for me to be this happy two months later. But I am.
     "Come with me to the store."
     Not a suggestion, not a question, because I don't want the answer to be no. So we walk and talk, you puff out your chest when a male walks by. You're protective and endearing and I want to hold you close, ruffle your hair, tell you a joke that makes you smile in that way that shows all your teeth, that way that I love, that way that is a real smile.
     We blow breath in each other's faces accidentally. Our cigarettes whisper to each other, silently, quietly, a hush in the breeze from the ocean.
     What do I want to say? I feel the urge to say nothing except what is between us now. Silence. Let me tell you my life story. Let me tell you what I love. Share, it flows as light through each other until we're filled with it.
     A quick one-armed hug on blacktop, a sweet text in the car, a moving conversation on the computer. Life is electronics, we make it fit our needs. Our needs. That sounds too nice.
     "This is my inner self I'm revealing to you."
     My heart softens a bit. Despite my tactlessness and your unloveable band, there's something. Even if it's not our hearts, it's something. A vital organ, perhaps. Our kidneys, lungs, livers. We're sharing what we have, working our way towards what will be, something neither of us can predict.
     "Good night."
     "Good night."
     Neither of us mentions that it's morning. When we wake, that will be enough reminder of the night we spent, exchanging our beliefs and wishes, neither able to easily walk away.
     In the morning I will have an unread text and I will go to school smiling.
     Halfway through the morning I will worry what that smile means.
     By the afternoon, I will have overthought.
     And by tomorrow evening, when we speak, when we lay down ourselves before each other in a sacrifice older than time, I will have forgotten everything.
     They don't shine quite as bright as back in 'Frisco
     Still wanna go?