i like watching the sky darken with you. // yeah, me too.
at ten, it’s his uncle’s farm at sunset. two boys on a fencepost in dirty sneakers, warm under the setting summer sun, big eyes catching the sky fade from pink to red to purple. once it goes black, one boy tells the other he’ll never leave him. the first boy believes him.
at seventeen, find the two outside junior prom, taking photos on the coastline. young men now, not boys, stand with beautiful girls and smile at each other once cameras lower. before the four duck inside to dance into adolescent memory, rhett puts his hand on link’s shoulder under the darkening sky. link breathes.
at twenty-two, the beauty of a dark sky pales in comparison to the stars in her eyes. she is a glowing moon against the dark, and when rhett and link regard each other, they bless the heavens for sending them angels.
at thirty-four, dark skies feel like early mornings. coffee is bitter and healing, and work becomes play becomes work again. the internet is a force and so is a favorite song on replay. the two spend every morning together, sat in one car under a changing sky. sometimes, the light of morning comes first.
at forty, they’re wondering what color the sky will be when their children take their place as dangerous youths, flipping cars, marrying, and dancing under the same curious stars. they look to future horizons each night and every mythical morning, dark and light and dark again, never once regretting a minute of it.
how many skies have i watched darken with you, brother? // only one.
