Thinking Residue

A walk in the park.

Under the red painted canvas sky.

Cold by nature.

A start of New Year.

The tangible air.

The rock we sat upon.

The breeze that felt a little too strong.

The first time.

The one and only time.

Sparks flew up in the sky.

You, were just there.

My feelings were confused.

Afraid.

Yet…

What was that?

What if…

No.

My heart was the residue of the fireworks.

Settling down.

Thinking.

Flying in the wind.

Not a single place.

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