May

The first time I walked with a boy, I was twelve.

I had never walked that way before.

Grace and elegance,

mixed with butterflies and jitters

and a nostalgic blush

upon my cheeks.

It was spring,

May.

The happiest of months,

for me at least.

He had a sweet walk,

with every step being as goofy as could be.

He was telling me memorized jokes as

we passed the series of teacup rides,

bumper cars, merry go rounds, carnival games,

and of course

the colourfully lit

Ferris Wheel.

The smell of cotton candy grazed

the tips of our noses.

The atmosphere was filled

with pinging sounds of games and chugging machinery

as roller coasters whooshed by.

We headed to the Ferris Wheel

side by side,

with freshly poured lemonade

in our hands.

His eyes met mine slightly

with a crooked smile,

a smile that made me blush even more.

We circled up to the top and

paused.

We could see the entire park.

Lights beamed on the back of our seat,

our sneakers dangled gently

with a dozen people below us

looking like insignificant specks of dust.

But even with the busyness below,

the only thing I focused on was

the calmness of him.

I longed for him to look at me

the way I looked at

him.

Just then

he reached over,

and like two magnets,

our hands clasped.

And the ride circled us back

to the ground.