The Last Supper

Flying felt like hope, and hope felt like flying.

You handed me plane tickets, and my heart sheepishly agreed.

We leapt through puddles of shade in Central Park.

Your shirt matched the leaves.

But I woke up in the warm night air, lying on the grass.

Fireflies swirled around me as my tears poured into my ears.

I wanted to run to you.

I wanted to say what my heart was screaming.

But I didn't want to be Kyle.

No one does.

So I said it with my eyes instead, and I immediately regretted it.

We ate lunch today, not supper.

You asked to split savory and sweet (probably for the last time)

I gasped not so subtly and braced myself

And then you told me the news

...and showed me the pictures of the ring.

I don't need you to love me.

I don't need you to need me.

I don't even need you to want me.

But please don't forget.

Please don't forget.

Please don't forget.