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Mister Frost was right

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Mister Frost was right

Mr. Frost was right.

It felt good that night, 
laying on our backs 
at the end of the dock 
looking at the stars.

It took us forever 
to find the little dipper.

It was one of those nights 
when time slows down
and nothing else matters 
but the moment.

I remember thinking I wasn't sure what was prettier
the million stars that seemed to be shining just for us 
or 
the way your smile looked in 
the moonlight as we talked about nothing. 
That nothing
being everything that mattered in that moment.

When we got home we danced around the house to "Brown Eyed Girl" and tripped over the coffee table in a crash of laughter.

Sometimes in those moments between sleep and consciousness I can still feel your body against mine.

Sometimes I wish you were here.

Then I remember you were just one girl among a handful I thought I loved
and that in the end
it was just an illusion
like a magic trick you desperately want to believe is real 
but you can't 
because no matter how well you hide or how many times you dance sweetly around a living room at midnight life eventually finds you
and leaves you 
with the cold hard facts.

In this way 
like a flower in the spring
love blossoms and
withers away.
It's seed carried away on a cool breeze of a summer day 
to land on fertile ground elsewhere. Then after lying dormant 
for a time 
it sprouts, 
grows,
blooms
and withers away again 
because after all 
nothing gold can stay.

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