"I'd do anything for you."
Those words get tossed around like the ball in a game of hot potato. Quickly, meaninglessly, and only by children.
And no one wants to be caught holding the potato when the music stops.
No one but me.
Because despite all that, the words I say are always objective. I say "I'm always right," both to see you smile and to let you know I mean it when I say the things I do.
I think you alone hear me.
Everyone else covers their ears and nods along.
You know.
A certain amount of time goes by before you can call someone by a name other than the one they say you can, just because you loved them that much. I always wanted a nickname like that. But I never had someone to love formalities the way I did, with me.
Until you.
Of course, until you.
You were always the exception. The world faded out and back in when you decided it should. You hold my world in your palm and you've treated it gently whenever you held it.
Although sometimes you set it down, and it shatters without the warmth of your hand.
You know that.
You know more than anyone'd give you credit for, and this /I/ know. I know.
I know how to handle you when you're about to fall over. I know the words to say, through trial and error I've learned.
You taught me well, and I paid attention because it was my favorite subject, caring for you.
I like to think I excelled. I think you do too.
Because instead of doubting me whenever I say "I'd do anything for you," now you say,
"I know"
I know you know. And I'm glad you know.
I wanted that more than anything last year, when what I feared the most was less than an inch away from my face, and my hands were tied behind my back.
I love you, and yet you scare me like that.
I think it's /because/ I love you.
I think I always did.
This feeling is an amalgamate of many different things.
Joy, Pride, Fear, Love, Pain,
Many, many things.
You know that.
You hold my head in your hands and I can tell by the way you softly squeeze that you know all of those things are true.
I only hope you know It's mostly one and four.
Your stereo heart beats with boosted bass, the bass of that freeing kind of love.
The same love buried in watermelon popsicles.
And the way they hit your tongue in the middle of June.
Sharp, sudden, cold, but it's what everyone knew you needed.
The sweat running down your back was proof enough for that.
The bass of our songs rings in my heart, One and Two and three and ah.
The way summer nights feel, close to comfortable, and anything's better than the way it was during the day.
Isn't that what I was to you?
Ironic, I think, the way those summer nights never left the back of my mind,
The very way the red watermelon stained my shirt.
You embody summer nights.
You are that comfortable warm.
And, like the summer, you come back in cycles, after the cold and the wind pass.
Do you remember those nights as fondly as I do?
Winter is my favorite season, other than you.
Oh summer, you ended all too soon.
And with it, the comfortable soreness of the next best thing left too.
But left something irreplaceable.
A secret truth: that summer isn't a season. Nothing changes from the last day of summer to the first day of fall except the name we call it.
The days are the same, just gradually changing, and it all comes back full circle.
And I know I'll see you again.
My wrist, it suddenly stings.
Your bangle, your brand.
I choose to let it call me yours.
Your best friend, your second dearest one.
I'll never let it go
And with that, I'll hold on to summer nights.
And every time I eat a watermelon popsicle,
I'll think of you.
