cliffhanger.

We sat, perched atop the rocky ledge overlooking the port city which felt like a polluted state-prison. Your crisp white shirt, as bright as the clouds which flowed over our heads resembling bears on unicycles, and lobsters with party hats.
We sat atop of the world it felt. On top of the place which struggled to hold us down. Closer Than ever to the heavens, as the ocean breeze flows through your hair. You look even more like an angel as your golden brown skin radiates under the sun which acts as your halo.
We talk of leaving town, and never coming back. With nothing but a full tank of gas, and a book of cd's to our name. As the Blue sky opens above our heads, signaling a chorus from a flock of seagulls (not the band), I realize that things aren’t so bad in this backwards town, as long as we have each other.