Streetlights Painted You Gold

You and me, we were seventeen. I was walking you home. Felt alive in the summer heat.

Streetlights painted you gold. On the church steps at Holy Name, I kissed you under the moon

and carved the date into everything–July 22. You and me at my cousin’s place under 95. I watched you laugh uncontrollably by the patio lights, and knew I needed a second chance, needed you back in my life, needed you singing the harmony at night when we drive. I don’t wanna say that you saved me, but you saved me. I didn’t feel like I was any good until you. I couldn’t lose your laugh again. Oh no, baby. Yeah, you showed me some things are worth staying for, and for me that was you. You and me almost twenty three, surrounded by hand-me-downs, where the hot water never worked–cheapest apartment in town. I left you flowers along the stairs, and started carving with you a new date into everything–August 22.