five august
seven : forty-four p.m.

he takes me up to his rooftop, the whole city all lit up, two bottles of wine, hearts that are full or empty (undecided), we're waiting for the thunderstorm that never comes. i forget for a few hours that i'm supposed to be going home to this one; all i want to do is grab his hand, tell him what he is doing to me.

we hug for so long on the elevator that the doors close us in.

and she says, "do what feels right for you. do what makes you feel happy. there will be consequences to any of this. something about it will hurt no matter what. it already does," and she knows she's right.