Grass

They skipped stones by the pond in the dark and to the sound of frogs, crickets, and their own easy banter. They walked along the train tracks by moonlight, one after the other, balanced on the same rail. And then again side by side on both rails, reaching out to touch their fingers together for balance.

They sat on the old slat bridge, dangling their legs above the river and staring downstream to the glowing sky in the distance; the sky above the far, twinkling city.

They rustled about in tall grasses and held each other as the wind swayed the leaves about them and echoed their whispers to each other and to eternity.

They promised to always be friends. Would they spit and shake on it? Yes, and so they did. And they kissed, lightly on the lips and each eyelid. The way mothers kiss their children off to war; the way fathers kiss their daughters.

"My train leaves in the morning, and I can see it's almost dawn."

"Stay with me, please. Here in the tall grass, here where we are hidden and safe."

"I have to go, and I am afraid."

"But if you go, if this ends, we will forget. There will be work and family, age and death and change. And then this-"

"Then this will seem like a dream half-remembered."

"We can hide from the sun. We can pull this grass around us."

"If I whisper to you that I love you..."

"It will be all that I can hear."

"And if I tangle with you in this secret field..."

"It will become ours and all that I need."

"And if I miss my train to stay here with you..."

"Then you will give up the world and joys of your own making for this moment and the promise of this night."

"You cannot promise me endless nights of green fields and caresses."

"And you will not stay to find out."

"I can stay until the dawn, but even now the light is changing."

"Kiss me, quickly."