I remember an evening laying with you,
Backs down on the top deck of the Sands’ pier.
It was late, though sleep never touched our eyes
And we wandered aimlessly–morphing cumuli across the islands.
We were a living young adult novel:
Two best friends swapping secret dreams under a candid sky,
Planning for futures, for obstacles, for premature deaths
that have now long since passed.
We were like that,
Skipping from one backdrop to another,
On the brink of adulthood, invincible but perpetually fragile;
Lingering away from home each night, testing boundaries,
Blatantly symbolizing our teenage freedom.
You patted my hand and pointed at a cluster of clouds
Inching towards the moon.
“Hand of God” you murmured.
As the appendage stretched to grasp the moon in its clutches,
I responded, “Seize it! Seize it!”
My own hand reaching up too.
Writing for the World 