Memories of late summer, and fallen stars.

There was that night, at the end of summer, under the meteor shower. Kissing under starlight, and so much more. How we would have taken each other right there if it weren’t for the lone dog walker going by.

You had your hand under my skirt and your lips on my neck and I looked up over your shoulder to the sky and saw a shooting star fall, and I wished for love. But not with you, I wished to not fall in love with you: knowing I was in an impossibly romantic situation. I wished not to love you, knowing I was about to.

I shouldn’t have let you back into my life.

Now you’re sending me polite hellos and videos of cozy fireplaces. It’s always some vague romantic nonsense with you.

It’s just going to be the same story again, the same starlight.