Broked

You are a broken love story. A black and white photograph that has seen too many rainstorms.

You are a quiet rainstorm. I've seen the puddles and the yellow, splashing galoshes in your eyes.

We held hands but you let go first. Leaves crunched beneath our shoes.

We held each other but the sound of one hundred pairs of black boots in step pushed through our tangled arms.

We laid out feasts of candy and beer and giggled like drunken children at the way the moon waddled above our rooftop.