On Rainbow we passed it, the Star Tunnel park, stars shining under a sun lit day. The warmth radiating from under the tunnel was real.
Children spinning, toppling over, running through green grass. Mumbled gossip in the sand. Drowned out. There was you and there was me.
I can’t do it anymore.
Eyes dimmed. Gray. Everything.
This is the only time I’ve ever really needed you.
The children playing in the dark roller rink. Balls chaotic, flying about the rink. Greater concentration to lesser concentration. War broke. There was only one ball left.
Lungs frozen. Breath escaping into the park. We walked that track so many times. The flowering trees didn’t look so green anymore.
That’s part of the problem.
You stopped looking like you. Blank, crying, you said we had to keep walking the park. I needed a minute on the bench.
Concrete. You. Gray and cold. The cold didn’t even register. The tunnel was dimming and everything was blank.
There was you and there was me.
Fading ghosts. The navy blue dress, hair all in curls, snapshot. A boy in a tree, all smiles and waving, snapshot. Two people in love enjoying the breeze, snapshot.
I guess that’s it then.
There was me.
Hovering in gray. Pulled in by the last star, still yellow on the blue tunnel skies. Floating, a fading ghost holding the final star.