What did we talk about?

I remember

sitting on rocks
with our feet
in a cool,

sand between my
fingers and toes,
you splashing me
with sea water,

grabbing my hand
and running
through woods.

The green room
where we slept
until noon.

You slept.

I waited.

The lights
and music,
the bathrooms,
four to a stall.

I thought the
dance floor would
cave in beneath us.

But never too
much talking.

Once, you asked
how I could pass
a mirror and
not look in,

and I often
heard a slurred
"I love you."

I told you
I would never
leave you.

"Then I'll take
you down with
me," you replied.

So young,
we were―

we both
misjudged me.