The humid air was heavy

with all we didn't say

on the last night of summer.

We stared at our own faces

reflected in the shallow puddles

by the pale, dusty moonlight,

images of naive confusion.

We were the only people alive that night,

wandering around the roof of an empty college building,

the soft thuds

of our sneakers on the damp tar roof

echoing into the empty darkness.

We touched and spoke tentatively,

lips hesitating over the simplest of words,

careful of what we said

because we weren't sure

what we wanted it to mean.

There should have been a lot to say but

silence hung between us like a wall,

both of us too afraid to be the first to speak,

and all I could say

was "I love you,"

and I couldn't tell whether the shakiness of his voice

was a laugh

or a cry

when he said "I love you too"

on the last night of summer.