i wish i took a picture when i was with you

7.12.25

i didn’t take a single picture when i was with you. not even as the sun crept down the towering brick houses. the ones overlooking the ducks in the water. underneath the faceless planes. arriving from distant cities to the airport where you picked me up from. even though the soft pastel skin of the sky matched the color of your lips. like it stole that perfect raspberry hue directly from your face and used it to paint the edges of the clouds

i didn’t take a single picture when i was with you. not even of the cobblestone streets and tree lined avenues. or the brownstone we stood in front of, with the pink front door and baby blue shutters. or the watermelon tinted bagel shop that reminded me of my mother, as vivid and warm as a bowl of ripe peaches in late july.

i didn’t take a single picture when I was with you. not even of our cowboy boots, walking in step. the embroidered stitching that matched the titled floor of that cramped corner restaurant. dinner guests filled every seat and wannabes lined up eagerly down the bloc. and although we could hear whispers. of conversations and the clink of forks on french porcelain. it still somehow felt like we were the only people in the room. at the table for two, tucked to the side. while our drinks stained our lips the color of strawberry jam.