Baby, [excuse my cheesy line, but] you're my firework.
The soundtrack blares out of the speakers,
filling the air with music meant for the day.
Music meant to commemorate our country,
and the people who run it.
It adds to the display,
which is currently filling the sky.
As each firework reaches it's climax,
reaches the end of it's life,
there's a distant boom.
This scene reminds me of one similar,
so many months ago,
but now there is an empty space beside me.
You should be there.
You were there,
offering me tic-tacs,
listening along to Good Vibrations
reaching over to bring your lips to mine
for the first time.
Now, you're gone.
two thousand miles away,
counting down the weeks.