Point A

We are more then a midsummer dream, I swear.

We are more then what I have left-

a green shirt with an inside joke that washed off too easily

one blurry photo

a longer-then-it-should-have been note in the pen that never smudged

We are something too big to hold.

Tapping morse code of our own against your knuckles with my thumb

Letting words fall like the summer rain from our lips, staining the pavement sliver

Constellations of mosquito bites across our own uncharted skies

You are the most beautiful before I have ever seen

And the most painful after

And I want nothing more than to feel the during

Without all this liminality

You are my point B.

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