Nights are warm, and the days are young. This is summer, a time of freedom and self-renewal, at least for those of us who remember what it was like to be a child, freed from all care and worry by the end of a school year.
I look at you, but my eyes follow the dancing lights hovering above the back lawn, fireflies looking for love. Have we found love, I ask myself. Your stare is equally removed from me, looking somewhere off in the distance.
“You’re so self-satisfied. I don’t need you,” you say, showing almost no emotion, “I’ve got to break…” But you stop. You’ve answered my question at least. I thought I’d found love, but I’d only found another failure. You stand and walk around the house. Eyes already blurred with tears I follow, though I don’t try to stop you.
You climb into your Skylark without looking at me. After a moment in which I dream a thousand dreams you start the car, and I hear the radio through the open window, ”...and it’s all an affair of my life with the heroes and villains.”