Leave a light on

Maybe one day, we’ll run into each other on the street. At first we’ll stare at each other, dreaming of the past and pondering what could have been. Then we’ll approach each other. You’ll tell me about your wife and I’ll tell you about my kids. And we’ll pretend we weren’t senselessly, hopelessly, mindlessly, shamelessly in love. We’ll avoid the fact that this awkward small talk is nothing compared to the times we talked of your family and of your struggles, the times that I stared deep into your cold, dark eyes and searched your broken soul. It is nothing compared to when we sat on your roof, my head on your chest, our eyes sparkling with starlight, talking of aliens and the future, of monsters and the past. And we’ll be okay with that, because we would have realized that we would have destroyed each other, because you never waited, and I never stayed.