#8 kids

I once told you I would jump from this rooftop,

that the tiles in it were not strong

enough to hold us both,

and if it started pouring I would slip,

and fall,

beyond those wooden floors.

You once told me you’d

remember me,

that every night my passing would make you cry

but believe in me, as you sit there

longing for our stars at night over the orange cloth.

And we both sat up there waiting for the night

to come,

birds went home,

bats flew by,

the sun left the sky gently

pulling the warmth from our necks.

And, as you pulled your weight

down the stairs,

your feet colder

with each step

you left your heart

up there.

or maybe it fell beside me,

like the dusk sky

above our heads.

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