Look, here’s the truth of this thing, and it’s the only truth and the only thing I know: when we buried ourselves with sun that day beneath the litmus-blue sky with our hands entangled like spiders on a prickling web of earth’s green thorns, I meant what I said. I meant what I said, just as what I mean what I say now. No: it’s true, I no longer see a fire in your eyes and the smoldering ember that once gave me hope seems to have faded the like fireflies do in the late July. It’s true. It’s just simply that: true. And even though I carry this wayward silence, I’ll crack it like a whip to tear into you.

Under the flashbulbs, what once seemed opaque becomes transparent. It’s simply true.

I’d like to be, too.

So let’s be true.