Stella
We raced across the cracked pavement,
worn down from years of the lake lapping at its edge,
hands clasped tightly together. Our shadows danced, intertwined,
water bottles swinging at our sides.
The swans sliced through the water,
tracing it with their midnight beaks, echoes
of the skyscrapers reflected in the mirror of sunlight.
Her father gave us mints, colors held gently in his worn, scarred hand.
Bright white, green, and red.
It matched her scarlet dress, and she told me it was her fourth favorite color.
I asked what her first was.
All of them, she laughed.
Me too.
She grabbed my hand and we ran
to the swings swaying in the soft wind and the monkey bars creaking from the weight of the sky.
The grass parted to let us through as we chased the wind,
broken leaves and daisies scattered around cracks in the concrete.
The leaves twisted, dancing their way to us. We chased them, caught them in our hands, and watched them
float away
on the lake, sinking, surrounded by the murky water. Her eyes followed them,
until she
couldn’t
anymore.
We stayed until our shadows blended into the milky twilight
and the secrets etched into the soles of our converse
faded away.