I’ll never forget that night,

the night the world slowed down.

The moon closed its eyes,

and fireworks ignited without sound.

He said, “We’re born to hold hands,”

but even when I refused,

he smiled and said, “It’s okay,

I understand.”

It almost worked—

keeping him alive.

I didn’t beg, he didn’t cry.

A part of us knew

this was our last July,

and that was fine.

We both sighed.

I turned to him and asked

if he’d fight.

He smiled at me and said

he might.

I didn’t believe him,

but I decided to try.

Then we looked up,

and watched

the colors dance in the sky.