watertown


the air smells of marshmallows

with his hand rested on mine.

we ride quietly in the back of his parent’s car.

there is no need for conversation as we feel it in the silence.

i go to look at him because i sense his eyes on me.

he admires me as i turn to admire him.

he says, “i love you,” with his hands.

he is cooler than he thinks he is.

we go back to the lake.

as i am watching him skip rocks with his father,

i realize these are the moments i thought about in times of darkness.

these are the instances i realize, i made it—to this, to us, to you.

and i think, “we’ll always have watertown.”

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