Lonely Boy

It's Sunday night again and this time we're at a park. I don't know the name of it but Rhett says he spent a lot of time here when he was younger. I ask him to tell me stories about his childhood but he won't because he says he doesn't remember all that well. I don't press him.

He brought along a blanket and a little pouch filled with candies. I learn that peanut butter cups are his favorite and that he can never have just one.

The moon peeks out from its hiding place slowly as we talk about everything that comes to our minds. When he smiles I can't help but do the same and think about how nice his is.

And then we're laying on our backs, our arms touching and covered with goosebumps. Mine aren't from the cold. I wonder what his are from.