The Palace of Fine Arts

I’ll be god damned if I had never felt quite the way I had when I watched you walk away, across the grass and out of my life. From across the water, as I watched you disappear from sight, all I could think of was how I may never see you again. Leaves in the lake and swans on the shore, you took one last look at me, up and down. You probably thought it was funny. I thought it was the hardest thing to watch.

From inside the Palace of Fine Arts, we built a life in possibility. We spent a day in San Francisco having lunch, laughing, walking, finding something we hadn’t known in a long time. We were full of other’s blood but there was something about thinking of infinity that warmed my heart. Your short plaid skirt and side winding smile, long lovely hair and sweet caring lips. All I wanted was to tell you. I wanted to tell you that you were intoxicating. I know nothing of addiction, but it hurt that much more when I couldn’t get enough of you. We both caught glances of each other staring at our feet, staring at each other, and we wanted to keep on.

But on the water at that palace, there were lilies dancing. Even though we were miles apart, in my head we were dancing with them. In my head, we knew each other for years. In my head, you loved me back. Your head was on my shoulder as I told you I loved you. I loved you like the sun loved your skin.

As I watched you walk away, I stood under the dome and stared straight up. In it I could see all the possibilities. Our love lived in that ceiling. I saw everything. Our kisses, our wedding, our family, our deaths. We lived and we loved and we died. But as I looked down from the ceiling of the palace, you were no longer in sight. The pillars stood tall over me like grief. Stone statues of fear gripped onto the ledge, just like me. I walked down to the water and I sat down on the beach of San Francisco. I looked to the horizon, which stretched to infinity, and confided in knowing that somewhere we fell in love inside the Palace of Fine Arts.