Young Writers Project: She, Next To You, Next To Me

She was sitting next to you and you were next to me,
legs intertwined, bare or covered with jeans.
Hands taking our weight, pressed down on the porch,
we turned over our palms and saw the grooves.
It was just another early autumn day.
Breeze blew our hair back and you lifted up your face to feel it.
She smiled at you and we renewed our oaths
to marry at the same time and call the kids our names.
Almost all of us had painted toenails, except for you.
You had an ankle bracelet that she and I had braided.
There's water down below us.
If I step off the porch, my feet will get wet.
And your ankle bracelet will get dirty.
And our polish will start to chip and fade.
Leaves coat the surface of the water and the ground is dirty.
It's better if we just stay up on this porch.
None of us should leave it right now.
Because if we do, we'll get dirty, our things will be ruined, and our nail polish will fade.