How to Heal (Prose)

A tendril of smoke rises from your cigarette;
two fingers loosely grasp the butt, and you inhale.
The sun is setting, I can see this firsthand.
Nighttime is upon us, and you are my goal in-mind.

At the playground, where every swing makes a squeak,
we politicize and dramatize life's goings-on,
me always trying to find the right words,
you just coolly speaking your mind as if it were natural.

No one is allowed here past dark, but that's why we came.
I hope that if I break a few rules, you'll like me.
I don't want you to catch on though,
so I just shrug when you mention it.

Darkness is finally here, and my pack of cigarettes are low.
If we run out of bad things to do, what teenage years have we?
How can I possibly make you see how awesome I am
without the right thing to say and a cigarette in hand?

The fireflies are out, but I pretend I don't care about them.
I see them out of the corner of my eye, but I'm afraid.
Afraid if I act too interested, you'll think I'm a nerd.
Afraid if I don't act interested enough, you'll think I'm boring.

There is no true young adulthood without running from the cops.
As I peek from the corner of my eye whilst eyeing fireflies,
I see the rounded edges of a protruding police lamp atop a vehicle,
presumably doing its nightly rounds to make sure no mischief is afoot.

I call your name, and say the one word that will get us both moving.
My pack of cigarettes drop to the ground as I begin my escape
from the dangerous place that is the nighttime playground,
just as the vehicle comes into light behind the trees and bushes.

My heart pumps with adrenaline, mid-length wiry hair streaming back
as my blood surges through my veins, and I see the nearing fence.
No time to go back for my pack now, as we're enshrouded by the darkness
of the outskirts of the forbidden playground.

I look at your skinny frame- blonde hair barely long enough to move
despite your ferocious running speed, arms pumping at your side
and your face twisted in the most grueling image of determination.
I attempt to keep pace as we run across the baseball field.

Headed toward the outline of the forest,
I brush a bead of sweat off my forehead and call for a break.
We look around to gauge the area's danger, and meet at each other's gaze:
An out-of-breath laugh is followed by our beaming smiles.

*

Ten years later, I can still remember this moment, though you are long gone.
Not from this world, just from my life... which can sometimes be just as bad.
I was in love with you from that day on, and if you want to know a secret:
I still am.

It never gets easier being in love with that which you will never have.
You think that life isn't a prison; more of a sandbox, or maybe a playground.
As time goes on and sunsets come and go, you realize you really don't know.
You don't know how to heal, you just hope your body does it for you.

...and when it doesn't? You just end up writing a story ten years later
and hope that afterward, eventually the feeling will go away.

I guess we'll see.

*

IdTakeABulletForYou