strangulation.

strange days, they were. silent and chill and a little wild, full of the
threat of storms. we held hands, and yours were colder than mine, you needed gloves and didn't have them.
running after the bus, i thought that perhaps we could have touched our lips together
a kiss in the style of children in the playground, too young to comprehend the meaning of it.
never would you stoop so low.
guessing at your whims, i followed you everywhere, and we climbed trees and burrowed
under trellises, seeking elves and fairies in the reflections of leaves in the puddles.
look, why wouldn't you ever try it, just once? we could have been so much more.
all your wishes and dreams and magic words and you could never quite manage to
tell me what you wanted. i tried to ask, so many times, but the wind whipped away my words, tearing from my mouth
into the vast void of your fantasy.
outside, over there--we promised, once, pinkies curled in purest solidarity.
now we hold our hands apart and take our steps separately.