Fourth of July.
A black ring.
It's clear now.
She took it off,
but you still have yours.
You've worn it ever since that summer.
Do not take it off,
because then the memories
of walking down the street,
watching her fly upon the sidewalk,
will go away.
And you don't want it to go away.
She was an angel, glowing amid
the streetlights, burning with passion
and happiness. Her smiles
filled your chest with everything:
butterflies, moths, wasps, the whole damn zoo.

Across the plaza, into the park.
A blanket laid for both of you.
You lay, watching the sparks fly
in the sky, feeling them in your chest.
Kissing her under the moonlight,
sneaking them when the adults weren't watching.
It felt so good to do something so bad,
something forbidden (perhaps forgotten now).
You've kept this dear to your heart, keeping
it forever and ever.
She's had far more loving experiences,
but this? This meant the world to you.
Don't take off your ring.
Do not take it off, or else,
she might be lost.
You need her to guide you.