Liam Egan / Writing

I walk alone. As the sun breaks through the tops of the trees beside the pathway, I break its path by my stride. It is still summer, though the calendar resists. In its march onwards, the cold in my shadow finds a home.

I reach the green where he lays, and lay my head on his shoulder. As I close my eyes, the rhythmic stillness of the pond reaches me, slowly. It is still summer, though the shades of the leaves disagree. On my face and on his chest the sun and my hand each softly find a home.

I feel his his heartbeat through his chest, and his gaze through my closed eyes. As I open them to return it, the light falls off his forehead, down his face. It is still summer, for this now falls away at every moment. Between our lips our shared breath finds a home.

I rest, the grass beneath me my bed. As the sun passes beyond the horizon of the trees beside the green, the cold in their shadow approaches us both. It is still summer, for at his side I feel only warmth. In this moment I find a home.