'Let us be fireworks,' say You and I

You and I have planned so much together; the greenery to go in our gardens, the atlas surface for our travels, the names of the furry children, and the colour of the bathroom taps. You and I have written so many words to each other; sweet poems of sunshine days, letters of dedication, postcards of our seperation, short fridge notes for absence and favours. You and I have hidden so many things from the world; the laughter behind the stern looks, the sand in our shoes from late night walks, the cries of agony and joy, and the photos of the days we were elsewhere.

You and I have felt so many sensations; the chill of September winds on the ocean, the warmth of the sun, the dirt in our toes, the prickles of unshaved hair, and the feeling of our breath on each other's skin. You and I have dreamt of so many facets of life; bubble baths, travel, children, bright blue skies over the garden, dark storms, our hands intermingled again, fresh sheets and innocence. You and I have caught each other, our colds, our possessions, too much sun, and an infectious thing called love.

You and I sometimes becomes 'I' and sometimes 'You' is not enough.

Sometimes the flowers wilt, and letters burn and pages go missing. Sometimes the moon cuts in between. Sometimes You and I have eaten too much of our hearts to sustain us. Sometimes the storms blows the roof off, or we get locked up in skeleton filled closets. Sometimes the others come back, the books are empty, the cupboard's bare. Sometimes You and I forget the invitiation or that the future comes, and the past doesn't. Sometimes the door jams or the crockery drops. Sometimes the glue doesn't stick, the sun doesn't rise, the medicine doesn't cure.

You and I explode like fireworks. 'Oh what a tremendous burning longing end for the initial squeak in the corner,' You and I say.