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, Oct 25 2025 by Sergii