parallel lines
by Lou Marcial M. Cuesta
we were going to meet in all lifetimes. where: the dirty subways reeking of urine, the autumn streets under foliage sheets, or perhaps the brimming lust over city lines. and the frozen lakes inside the dead woods, the candlelit house beyond the hills, or mayhap, the wild sea of our youths. why:
to hold your pale pinky finger, to beckon the great stars, or perhaps, to live our final days. and
how:
to forget the price of loving you, to string the fates of us, or mayhap, to not die alone. we swore we were going to find each other. no matter the heavy traffic or the fogging of the night, we promised—the warmth of your faux wool shirt and the cherry smell of my cologne. and we said we will try. we vowed on paper rings and wilted ivy, no one will arrest us— even if my heart breaks into two and yours melts in the bonfire, we knew that this was love. because we swore, we were going to meet in all lifetimes.
but we never did. but we never did.
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