-- Part 1
You found it creepy like a witches house and engaged in patriarchy complaints and feminist talking.
Something lights within my ribs each time I remember the 8th of August. It wasn't particularly special, we wore masks and walked among posh houses for hours on end, complaining about the system and picturing the death of structures that suppress us all.
It was so hot we were melting and flying away instantly until we found a muddy bit, you went in bravely for me and I killed some spiders for you.
I guess what made it so, was seeing the parts of you I never get to see.
It's clear you're not a forest child, but that's ok because you enjoy it and come with me anyway.
-- Part 2
As usually we just stayed in silence for hours, looking at this view, laying side by side, sporadical fingertips on skin bits, mostly just companionship and calm.
Sometimes I'd share, sometimes you would, until you asked to go in, so I stood up and walked fast, you were behind; I'm sorry I didn't wait, something between pride and fear kept me from slowing down.
It was cold, but not too cold, we talked about "the bits" until, on a spree, I swam further away, turned to see you and felt your kind eyes kissing mine. I went to play on your side because, after me, there was only you at that moment, at that time, in that water.
We went back to dry, ate bananas, hummus and bread, and stared at these trees again, bits of sky coming through like the water drops evaporating from our skin.
Everything feels safe when you're near me.
-- Part 3
As the sun went down, we began a race of blood spill, you won because you're more delicious even though I eat much more candy.
I showed you this view. The sun, not as beautiful as its light on you, the entirety of you.
The race was over so we walked away. Ants sounded like a million bees and the darkness of the forest made me feel at home, so we engaged in imagination and monsters. I don't think I held your hand, but I wished I could share that feeling which tends to slip from me so easily; let's call it belonging.
We looked at spiders, you from a distance of course, and I offered my help, forever. I don't remember what we talked about by then, but it felt as wonderful as it always does, even once we reached the bus stop.
The ride back was as quiet as those kind eyes of yours, love through the masks, holding hands until it was too warm. And out the windows, we saw from darkness to light, how this idle second came to an end.
Though not entirely, our hands are still nearby and our hearts still burn with the fire that keeps us close, which is the same fire that will burn this system down to the ground and rebuild society, this time for, and with us all.
