Streetcorners were made
so that we might meet there,
under buzzing electric streetlamps,
while the rest of the world rested.
And the moon was made
to light up the blue in your eyes,
and the cracked sidewalks
where we walked and sat and talked
and where you played your guitar
as though you could turn a summer night
into a song.
Oh, there was such a thing as romance
and we were it,
and words were made so that we could
write them together into pretty sentences
and even prettier lies.
Nights like those were never made
for goodbyes like ours,
and tears were never meant to pour so freely,
free-flowing into the cracks on the sidewalk
and pooling in empty places
between pebbles and sand.
The world never saw tears like those.