Wouldn't It Be Nice

It's cold outside and my breath mists in the air in front of me as I walk down the street, past Christmas trees left out on the curbs like orphaned children, waiting to be taken to loving homes. I stop on the corner and squint into the oncoming traffic, silver boxes streaming past. The lifeblood of the city flowing through its arteries to the beat of the changing traffic lights. The minutes of my life, racing past and fading into the distance. I walk on and the storefronts I pass are all in flux, shifting and morphing every time I look away. Ahead is the park, where you're waiting for me. “Wouldn't it be nice?” you ask, as you take my hand. I smile. We walk through the dappled light towards a darkened tunnel. “Hold your breath and make a wish,” you say, and I do as we walk through, our footsteps echoing and mingling with those of all the others who passed this way. “Did it come true?” you ask me on the other side. “I'll let you know,” I say, and I kiss you.