snow cones for thirty cents outside the
theater and then steal away in your car to
cruise the boulevard? You listened for hours.
Remember when we'd sit in the park that summer,
sitting on the swings, digging our feet into dark sand,
a sunset barely visible through the trees, the hill
sloping away into a yawning lake?
I went there myself once, you know,
staying until it was too dark to see,
until I didn't feel safe by myself, without you.
I told you everything that summer
in a letter I never sent.
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