Sketch

A boy with a waistcoat on hand, a girl with her workout grin built a complicity that taught us to love the way one intuits to mold a vessel or to use the innocence's edge to make a chunk of it and to shatter on it.

That was the first love

A pleasure for betraying us as we would never do it again, following the radio's dial 'til we awake one dawn with rancor dubious against whom or what

That used to be the first love

A time where taking risks was a duty or a desperation, and a matter of enjoying life.

Today a wave on the street saves us from the idioms we use to wish our separate happiness

But you should know that with you

I was in the place I was supposed to be.