The Summer of Fireworks

Ahh, memories <3

"Was it the summer of 2010? The summer... that we watched the Fireworks together?"
The conversation went from fun, carefree to the most painful moment in my life. You spoke these words, such a pleading look on your face, and you sent me back to a better time, back when memories were rosy and confusing, muddled up and entwined in modern affairs and blinded by current events. Memories that were faded at the edges, burnt and crisp like the edges of ancient parchment.

Some memories are like pressed flowers; you can remember the beauty, but the thrill of the moment has fallen to dust. The memory is old, it is frail, and is soon to be forgotten. Other memories are like fresh daisies; pearly white and with a marbled finish, pumping with vitality and stretching towards the sun, the epitome of beauty and nostalgia. The summer we watched the Fireworks-- this memory was stronger than a simple daisy. This memory was a rose. I protected the beauty with the thorns, gently prodding the edges of my mind so I never forgot the simple pleasure of one night on the lake. These memories are like flowers.

I could remember this summer, the summer that ruined my life and the summer that regenerated me, the birth and death of my childhood flaming and cooling like a pheonix. Constantly reborn. I had lost all innocence, corrupt by a man I was convinced I loved. He was all to wrong for me, but I was blinded by a false reality that I wished with all my heart was true. My reckless actions simply to see him again had landed me in the typical troubles of teenagedom, with the added bonus of being under "house arrest" by decree of my parents. This one chance on the Fourth of July was granted simply by the hope that I wasn't completely dead inside, and my parents dropped me off at the park and left with doubt creased upon their faces. You stood on the hill, the grass at your ankles wave-like as you ran down the sea of grass to embrace me.

We walked around, the soles of our shoes slapping upon the hot pavement as we waited for the fall of night. As the sun dropped lower, winking over the last throng of trees, the call sounded and the workers prepared the fireworks. We laughed and screamed and scurried down the citizen-laden hills until we came to rest at a miniscule cove at the base of the moss ridden dams. The rocks were gently lapped by the pulsing lake, the stars and moonlight sparkling off the surface. A night like a fairytale, the land so picturesque and cliched for one night only. We sat upon the damp grass, side by side, and watched as the fire burnt up our sky overhead. We giggled and whispered, inside jokes reverberating off our bodies and reaching feebly to the ears of our disgusted peers. Although they called for us to be silent, we disregarded their calls as typical youths would. Sitting closer.

Our world exploded into fire, and you looked at me like there was something more locked behind your eyes, waiting on the tip of your tongue, a burning question. I never caught your eyes, but I saw the way you stared at me... as though I was more fascinating than the fireworks. Young love, one might call it, but I was blinded by the false leadings of another man, and I lost the last chance for you a girl could ever have. I wasted my chances that night. At once it was over, and we were sorry to part again. You gathered me up in your hot, sweaty compress-- a tight hug like you never wanted to let go-- and I melted.

This memory is like a vibrant rose, the thorns eternally stabbing me from within for passing up my chance to be with you. And your one question brought this all back, the crisp and clear pictures of our hometown, the passion I was afraid to express, and the mistakes I wish I'd never made. But do you remember this night the same way I do; our proximity? The way I swore you could hear my heart beating out of my chest?
Did the summer that we watched Fireworks together mean as much to you as it did to me? Or is it, instead, a memory of a pressed flower, a crumbling image of what might have been...

Author's Note

Summer, the time of mistakes and missed chances. I wish I could go back and right my wrongs...
Also, I can't spell. Sorry.
In other news, yay metaphors! :D

Reviews

[SOUL LESS]

Amazing description...you should concentrate on prose, your poetry lacks this strength. And...Yeah some of the metaphors were spot on, e.g the memories part. What do you read?
I love the line ...and i melted. Sweet.
I suppose the reason i admire this so much is that I can't write a romance to save my life. Your handling is superb; subtlety and passion so perfectly balanced. My compliments.

~SOUL LESS~

P.S: If you're wondering why I'm suddenly reviewing you, I just do that: scroll through my friends and review the ones I haven't in a while. :)

[Wednesday]

Lovely. Simply lovely.