On a slate roof, the sun melted us together as the popsicles melted down our fingers. It was the kind of summer day you can see in waves, the roof the kind of height that felt daring. You turned to me and I wondered how I had never noticed before. Your eyes aren’t just brown, but a burst of yellow and green. Hazel. I warned that children aren’t allowed to play on rooftops and you argued that we weren’t playing. When you kissed me, I couldn’t feel your braces.


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