Fireworks and city lights

You said you were happy because your shiny new girl

was our kind of weird

and I struggled to make sense of it.


I thought of her long blonde hair

and big blue eyes

and how she takes her shoes off at the door,

how she leaves her things around

but never laughs at my jokes,

just raises her eyebrows

and purses her lips,

like she belongs.


I thought of my wild, unruly hair

and how I talk too much

and want too much

and laugh too loud,

and I wondered what you saw

that made you think

we were the same.


I thought of that time in the darkness

when you told me I was a firework

and I shone brighter than a thousand suns

and I was good ’cause I was different.


I think maybe you told her that too,

I think maybe she’d like it.


I thought of how you laughed with my friends

and how they became your friends too,

how I’d come home early just to see you

and how you held my hand on that scary ride,

the one I agreed to do just to impress you.

I thought of how we haven’t spoken in a year

but I think I saw you on a train

last December,

and I wanted to say hi

but some things are better left unsaid.


You said you were happy and I said I was too,

and I wanted to mean it

but my insides were burning,

’cause you said I was a firework

and then found yourself a brighter star.


You said you were happy and I said

I’m happy for you

but when my friends ask about you

I still don’t know what to say,

and I still think of that ride,

and I still think maybe I imagined it.


But if I close my eyes

I remember how it felt

high up in the sky

on that rollercoaster,

and I see the city lights in the distance

and we burn, burn, burn.

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