fireworks

I always tend to think of Fourth of July as "our" holiday because of our first vacation to San Fran during the patriotic holiday. We had so many firsts that trip. I first told you I loved you on the air mattress of your sister's swanky downtown loft. I had wanted it to be much smoother and find the perfect moment. Something romantic and sweet. I woke up that morning while you were still sleeping and tried to plan a perfect speech--a speech worthy of the way I felt about you. I wanted the moment to be special. But after you opened your eyes and we began to whisper intimately and joke with each other on that air mattress, the words just came pouring out. My best laid plans went out the window, and I couldn't keep my love for you to myself any longer. A few days later we watched fireworks over the bay on top of your sister's roof. It was just the two of us, seemingly alone in the world, cuddling on top of the chilly deck. As we stared out over the bay, we could see the fireworks in San Fran and beyond. We felt so connected and complete. Like we didn't need anything or anyone else. The real fireworks weren't overhead, they were on that rooftop. It was in that moment that I knew I would love you forever. And here I am, dreading the impending Fourth of July. Because I know I won't be holding your hand as we stare at the sky in wonder. I won't be kissing you under a lit horizon. But the fireworks are still there. And just like the first moment I told you I loved you, the words are just waiting to burst out of my chest, just like those fireworks bursting in the sky...