We collected our footsteps on the way down
and in the midst of our hour of defeat,
we found a home in each other’s presence,
a rebellion in our quiet riot.
We watched our castles burn,
sparks and glitters turning to dust
(the way gold in a young child’s eyes would)
imagining they were the fireworks
strewn across our eyes’ sky
(knowing we would give anything just to run away)
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
@m@nd@
HCReingold
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