On Fillmore Street
It’s past midnight - I’m home again, Sonoma Chardonnay is a quiet friend. Jules’s pizza gone cold on a plate, jazz in the air and the sound of fate. You said, “ I should see you again ” that night, under Fillmore’s fractured city light. Perhaps you should - but truth runs deep, some promises aren’t ours to keep. I bite the crust where your lips had been, a foolish trace of what could’ve been. You know the past tenses better than me, no labels, no vows - just chemistry. “ Infinity is the most beautiful thing ” I said. You smiled, “ It’s you ” though half-denied. A part of you meant it, another withdrew - how does one love when both parts are true? San Francisco hums like a secret refrain, our movie plays in my mind again. Your inner camera caught it all - the cold, the hot, the last-minute call. And maybe that’s what frightens us most: love’s just a film's frame, we fade like ghosts. Yet somewhere inside, that scene repeats - you and I, forever, on Fillmore Street. San Francisco, O...
