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Our Trip to Coney Island

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I imagined us going to Coney Island. Maybe it’d be sunny, maybe it’d be cloudy, but it’d be the dead of winter all the same. Maybe I’d hold your hand for the last few stops, since by that point the train cart is pretty empty.

You could show me around, and I’d follow along. We’d look at the closed up park and head to the boardwalk. The wind brings a numbing pain to my ears but there’s something about the scenery that makes it all worth it.

The frosted sand at the edge of the shore, the waves still crashing despite nature’s pause. And we’d just stand there and stare for a while, before continuing our walk.

We talk about dumb things, and our hands brush a few times, but neither of us make a move.

I look at the side of your mouth as you talk, and watch those golden ringlets get mangled by the breeze. You wouldn’t even notice I was looking, but then again you never do.

A seagull perches on the fencing and i say something dumb about how they can swallow fish whole, but you’re more concerned with digging around in your pockets for these left over saltine crackers you swear you kept from that time you got soup at the deli last week. And I think it's adorable how you pout your lip like a child, as you start yanking old receipts and change from your pockets.

Nobody is around, its too fucking cold, so I put my hands on your shoulders, turn your face to mine, and kiss you right then and there. I can feel your warm breath condense on my upper lip.

It would’ve made for the perfect first kiss.