Tiny Lights

The tiny lights along the edge of the cabin framed our faces in pale yellow light. We stood there. Not a word was spoken. The crickets played their notorious song in harmony with the loons to fill the silence. Occasional twinkles of floating fireflies appeared in the dark and stagnant summer air. I wanted to say so much. I wanted to tell you that it was all going to be okay. When I opened my mouth, my voice was trapped within the knot in my throat, and I could feel the sensation of my eyes welling with tears. I broke the bitter sweet eye contact between us and looked at my shoes, hoping that you didn’t see how vulnerable I was. I swallowed hard and blinked the tears away. When I looked up, you were staring at the stars. “There’s the Big Dipper,” you said, as you pointed to the sky. Identical to the night we met. My eyes followed your finger’s directions. I never truly appreciated the beauty of a clear midnight sky until I met you. I was startled when you grabbed my hand, but then I felt at peace. You lead me to your dad’s old  radio on the porch of the cabin. You fixed the antena and turned the dial until you found a suitable melody. Eventually, through the waves of static, a beautiful arrangement of strings and a woman’s soft voice began to muffle the evening lakeside sounds. You then brought me back to the cool, dew filled grass. I put my trembling hands on your strong shoulders, you held my waist, and we began to sway. As we danced, I began to cry, and this time I couldn’t fight the tears. Honestly, I’m not sure if I really wanted to. At this sight, you pulled me close and in a shaky voice you said, “I love you, and I always will.” We wiped each other's tears and shared our last kiss of this lifetime. When I pulled away, I sniffled and took a deep breath. “I’m ready,'' I said, as weakly I pulled the pistol from my waistband.