epilogue

There were 63 of those one-dollar bills that fell from a marble sky.

You guys didn't see Tara and Caden sprint across the grounds of the capitol 

like summer of '06, night games.

He swung her around like the mayday parade and barreled up those steps with hands linked,

but they didn't see us because only two people really exist at prom.

Age never made anyone an adult.

Neither did staircases and nude pumps,

the fact that your tie was a team effort & I was afraid the socks wouldn't work,

but you watched them from behind the registrar with candyshop eyes,

the kind of kiddish fervor I've only seen from Nike signs and your car playlist.

So you had to own the socks.

I folded the suits into the bag for you, because wrinkles don't go well with filet mignon,

and we didn't say much on the stony steps of that glowing piece of history

but not much was necessary.

It was different under those stars, though.

Holding hands is for adults,

but adults don't run barefoot under cascading walls, whispering secrets about dance partners,

and the dresses they didn't want to wear.

You thought hard about that suit, and fought those perfect teeth into a smile,

and all the night I kept thinking about 

how easy it is to lose yourself in whispers made too close.

My toes don't remember the bruises, but that boutonniere stayed tight to the linen.

I'm giving myself credit, but you probably adjusted it in the bathroom.

Brown shoes remind me of my favorite song,

driving past Courthouse Drive and under the silver wings of the library,

the sound of heels smacking the pavement doesn't ring like bare feet,

but Salt Lake has always been one of our favorite places.

I added the hike to the non-bucket list.

I added that kiss to the list of Things I Like More Than Dancing.

And I know the songs didn't move you, and I know I'm too short to move with,

but you held on while the minutes passed and the tune changed,

and the tempo got weary.

You held on for July,

carried me across wet grass on your back so I could pull the fabric on that sweatshirt,

and forget that we were students in a computer system.

Thank you for the dance.

Thank you for those eyes.

You look nice today.