Spring's Ladybugs

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“The stars are really bright tonight, buggy,” I said, and turned to face my best friend.
“Ya, they are. Beautiful, isn’t it? You don’t see that in the city,” he replied.
“It’s the light pollution,” I said, and saw him shake his head next to me, “What?”
“So matter-of-fact. Have you ever heard yourself speak? You can really ruin a mood.”
“I didn’t know there was a mood, sorry,” I said, and blushed. He must have seen it in the dark night, because he brushed my hair back to my ear.
“Why do you call me buggy?”
I smiled. “Because you’re like those ladybugs in the spring,” I replied. “Everyone loves you, but no one knows what to do with you. I’ve always let my ladybugs go, for fear of their death.”
“That’s,” he paused, “interesting,” he said, looking up at the sky.
“Look!” I said, pointing, “A shooting star! Quick, make a wish.”
We both closed our eyes tight and wished as hard as we could. When I opened my eyes again, I noticed he was holding my hand in his.
He whispered, “Don’t let go of me”
“Not this time,” I promised, and kissed him.





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