We all sat in a circle under the sky
on a cool July night
in our own little corner of the world
where everything was perfect,
or at least good, at least peaceful
without war, without hate
just fifteen people talking
in the moonlight,
under winking, glimmering stars.
I don't remember everything we said,
not exactly,
but I do know we were there for hours
laughing and reminiscing
as marshmallows melted on our tongues
and we finally found the friendship we'd always yearned for,
almost too good to be true, but we knew it was real.
We were real.
(Mostly.)

We all sat in a circle under the sky
and all our fears melted away
and formed a new feeling —
golden, glowing, bright — 
hope.
We were here, 
together,
just us and the trees and the
distant howl of coyotes penetrating the night's fragile quiet.
We knew we'd never get to sleep,
so we stayed outside,
dumb jokes giving way to deep secrets
as the dark blanket of night gave way
to the first orange-pink glimmer of dawn.
By then, we looked around with bleary eyes
at all the people surrounding us,
and wondered how we'd barely known them weeks before.
We hugged, we laughed, we cried, we sang,
we let the tiny sliver of time we had together
somehow become enough.

We all sat in a circle under the sky
and never wanted to leave.
But we had to go our own ways,
walk down our own trails in the thick, deep wood,
promises of meeting again vanishing into the trees.

I know, however,
that one day I will return there
to my own circle under the sky,
and in a moment laced with magic and starlight,
of golden memories of hushed secrets,
of days full of sunshine and nights full of song,
I'll reach out
and take your hand
and finally, I will be free.