Our midnight conversations over mulled wine
transformed into afternoon espionages,
armed with nothing but cold sandwiches – people watching.

Our three PM classes on igneous rocks
maneuvered into six AM walks by the broad,
skipping pebbles from the trail;
as the morning sun varnishes elm branches vermillion. 

Then came the rain. 
Trickling softly; its rhythm startling a tawny squirrel,
who lumbers back into her tree.  
We sprinted under a canopy,
hurriedly finding shelter,
as dampness spread on our shirts,
like red tints on ripening apricots.

Down here – days away from history 
and free pizza stands – 
we watch the road disappear into the ferns. 
When we broke into vulnerable conversations
on anxieties,
travels,
and heartbreaks, 
I felt my walls crumble down. 

As we sit on the side of the buildings
and stand stark against the universe, 
I know.
It may just be freshers,
but believe me when I say,
I didn’t believe in miracles before I met you.
I didn’t know I could heal,
Before you waved,“Hello.”


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