summerstorm

4

dear nora,

it's getting harder to justify these letters, especially since it's been so long since you've replied. if you're dead, i hope they find you. if you're alive, i almost hope you've made it out of here. i'm not sure which one is more fantasy. but i find myself daydreaming of you. 

but at night when i sleep, you're still in my head. all pretty and smiling, it puts me back to that night that we kissed under the stars at the old wayton's lake. we were drinking, but sober enough to know that our soft touches would stain your fingers with regret. i wonder if you ever looked at them, all tarred and bleak. and i question if you ever noticed mine were glowing gold into the sky, a soft spring taking me into its arms in the heat of summer. 

and i loved you in that moment, not knowing we wouldn't talk of it again. sadly i still loved you when you wouldn't look me in the eyes. when you'd flinch if our hands brushed. i was stupid and beaming all over town, keeping all that love packed in tenderly to my chest. 

i caught all those glances when you thought i wasn't looking. i know the way your fingers unconciously brushed up against mine. i was happy just sitting there together. you leaned in first. (though i never used it against you).

when we kissed again, weeks later in the gym alcove, i told myself and told myself: we can make it work.

nora, if you're dead; please start walking. 

love
atlas