Concrete and Pineapple Popsicles

My stomach muscles relax as I take a fetal position on the leather armchair. The armchair has always been wide enough for me to do this, and that is one reason why I loved it.

The memories of all those summer nights will be cherished forever. They make the top five. It was the perfect combination.

It's two o' clock in the morning, but I don't care because there's nowhere I have to be tomorrow. I can spend the entire night here, if I want.

Wide awake, I listen to the beat of the music in my ears. The tune is lively, fresh, and something I've listened to a million times. It reminds me of you.

The package in my hands crackles, and as I rip away the translucent covering, syrup clings to the popsicle in my hands like it only does on flavored ice products. It's artificial, but it makes me happy.

The first bite is hard, and it breaks away like stone. The taste is familiar--sweet. It reminds me of all those times when we sat in that armchair together and laughed. I always liked the part where it started melting best, because that meant that the next bite would come easier. It still stung my teeth, though. I learned to cherish that feeling.

Now I'm just chewing on the wooden stick left behind. I don't know why I always insisted on chewing things to splinters. Maybe it's satisfying to feel it come apart, even though the fibers often poked me.

The leftover warmth is dragging me under, and I can't help but let myself drift off while tucked in your arms. I'm usually scared of the dark, but with you this darkness is comforting--concealing, even.

I'll never let you get away from me.

P.S. I'm eating one of those popsicles as I write this.