We are a merry parade of ants, dancing on the hot concrete toward the melting lollipop. We appear unwavered from above, our movements stilted and choreographed, moved by the satisfying aroma of sugar in the air.
And all of our love flutters and fades, curled and brittled in the stranger’s hand. Our memories but sketches of immortality we trace and trace again, our gushing hearts filling in the details where our minds falter. We pity our regrets of floundered embraces, and the smiles we squandered, drifting lazily in the quiet hush of someone past.
Still we march on, fearing not the foot that would end us, but the appetite of the soul beside us. He too spins a quiet story in his mind of fairytale balls, and blue-eyed dreamers that remembered his name when he was young and his life was beyond his control. He will not hesitate, or fear a watchful eye, you are only a memory to him.