The midsummer night's tale is clear, the rules dictated from days of old. The party was over long before sunrise but birds were already singing in the forest beyond, as I stepped into the meadow to find my treasure. The rain had subsided, our bathing suits dripping from midnight swims, and I picked the tiny flowers with care, unsure of their purpose. One day this will all be a quaint story from our youth and who will know the difference. Ring around her finger, she asks me now the plan, and all I know is once autumn comes, I have to go.
This season will pass, as it always does. The days will grow shorter, and you already have Someone Else. Our only constant is our eyes in the mirror, the city that carries on even when you are not there. There is comfort in that which is reliable. I'm a sucker for continuity, even though you'd never guess.
I place the flowers under my pillow. Pray I'll dream of your streets tonight.
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