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.