It's Getting colder, the passage of time marked by the drop in temperature but I don’t care.
He asks me to sit closer, and I am drunk with longing.
My heart beats faster than the speed of the train running past us, and I dream and ache to grab his hand and jump on it.
We are doomed, only a matter of time before our heaven is split in half.
Both of us know this, yet we get closer and closer with each passing minute.
He is kissing me, and nothing else exists. Not even the train that frightens me.
It’s hard to believe a few weeks ago the idea of kissing him was forbidden, it feels like we’ve been doing it our whole lives.
He is happy and open and broken and beautiful to me and it’s almost too much for me.
These stolen moments where I’m his are worth the secrets alone, even if he isn’t mine.
Love is on the tips of our tongues but it doesn’t need to be said. It’s in his hair as he leans on my shoulder, in my fingers when they reach for his hand.
I dare not whisper his name even to myself, it would shatter the dream.
That the times we’ve snuck away and drowned in each other actually happened.
Every secret kept from him, kept from myself and kept from the world is worth the kisses under the bridge.
His hand will be pulling triggers, mine writing words, but both will crave the touch of each other in the dark.