wet fuse.

a year ago, a lot of things seemed important, and most of those things don't really matter to me any more.

he encouraged my move, my chance to better myself, my ability to shift constantly, my need to see someplace new.

he kissed my forehead and told me we'd be allright. if we were meant to be together, it would happen, even better the next time.

we went to the river to watch fireworks, and he hugged my waist. mosquitos biting, choking breeze blowing, and a warm slab of concrete to prop our elbows on.

two days over four months later, he died.

and i came back here, just like i had decided those few months before, to try to give myself another chance, testing and stretching these cramped legs.

a year ago, i couldn't imagine what would be important to me today. but somewhere out there, there's a boy who's wondering why his girl can't bear to see the fireworks anymore and why it's raining on the fourth of july.