There’s day. And there’s night.

My leaves love the former. It’s warm, and it feels nice to be warm. I can stretch and bask in the light that comes and it’s so WARM.

Soft smiles on sidewalks, quick waves out driver side windows in traffic, hugs that pin arms to ribs and rock back and forth like wa’a on gentle tides. Warm. Easy.

My leaves love that.

My petals, the latter.

It’s brisk. Whispers of the warmth of the day leave trails behind as I forget the sound- the memories of the sun wandering off into the moonlight. I shiver- from the longing or the cold, I don’t know- but I shiver.

Boisterous laughter in an unseen corner of a dimly lit restaurant, long conversations in the front seat- staring through the windshield wondering how four AM came so fast, words heavy on tongues that are heavy with the taste of what more there could be.

My petals love that.

I hope you find me in the night. My leaves will have already felt the day, said goodbye to the sun. I would’ve let that Corolla merge and grinned at the hand that popped out the cracked window. I’d have already hugged you so tight the giggles would’ve hurt our ribs. It would have been so warm.

I hope the day is gone when you see me last. The moon should be out, solemn in the sky, echoes of its love for the sun outlining my petals before they wilt. I’d have eaten too much spaghetti, laughed too loud in the booth at Carruso’s. You would have kissed me already, and I know you didn’t say what you meant to say but I heard it anyway. It’s a promise. I promise. It’ll be cold, for a bit. I’m sorry about that.

But then, my love, there will be day.

And I think you’ll love the warmth.

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