Brightest
It was cool outside. Cooler than most summer nights. That cool where sitting on a swing on your front porch requires some kind of sweatshirt of sweater.
I rocked back and forth, my feet hitting the pale, faded panels of wood on the ground, scratching as they kicked up more and more speed. A moment passed where it would have been prefect for me to sigh. But I didn't. I didn't have it in me. Instead, I tucked a piece of my blonde hair behind my ear.
I wasn't sure if she was going to come or not. Although after fighting, we couldn't stand not talking to each other for longer than a half an hour. Fifteen minutes. Ten minutes. I don't know how long it had been. Maybe forever. Maybe five seconds.
And it was getting dark. The pinks and oranges in the sky fading into the darkest of blues. I could see small fireflys swooshing around the front yard, lighting their bulbs every ten seconds or so. I felt the need to go capture some in a jar, like I used to do when I was little. But they deserved their freedom, just like everything else.
Her steps didn't startle me, no. Actually, I had been expecting them even though I was worried I wouldn't hear them for a while. Her feet made their way across the porch, the boots she always wore, no matter how hot or how cold, sliding against the panels. No words were spoken. Then she sat down next to me on the swing, ignoring any distance that there might need to be after a fight. Her mind didn't work like that, it didn't listen to the norm.
It's what I adored.
We swung together, falling into place with each other's leg strokes. Every now and then I heard the rope that was holding the swing up creak. It was the only noise that could be heard.
And when she blinked at me through those bangs of hers, I blinked back. I felt her warm hand slip easily into my own. Fingers intertwined, our hands rested on my thigh. They didn't go anywhere else, they didn't do anything else.
It was suddenly warmer.
Brightest - Copeland
El Fin.