It was one of those nights
 where the phone 
 and the distractions
 couldn’t drain from me
 the sharp ache of a feeling
 I have no name for.
 I have no space for.
  
 I walked to the water’s edge
 sought refuge among
 the reflection of clouds
 on the reservoir’s surface.
  
 I see a man propose
 to a woman in tears.
 I stop to take a picture,
 to preserve their moment,
 to be a part of a love
 that’s not my own.
 For a moment 
 I pretend
 to know it.
  
 Behind them
 the clouds hang thick
 covering a descending sun.
 Stubborn in its want to be seen,
 the sunset's rays emerge in fragments.
  
 I let myself wonder about
 the side effects
 of falling 
 without knowing what’s below.
  
 There’s a certain kind of pain
 that comes with the risk
 in opening myself
 without knowing how to close.
  
 And I often wonder 
 if this is what others feel
 when they hope for 
 something
 someone
 that may not belong to them.
  
 It's dark now. 
 The clouds have grown thicker.
 I assess the risk 
 in letting people in.
  
 I’m so used to the sharp ones
 the ones that bring with them
 unintended consequences,
 unexamined intentions.
  
 As I walk to my car
 leaving behind the water 
 and the newly engaged couple,
 I wonder the side effects
 of pushing people away
 or of letting myself be seen.
  
 I am unsure which consequence 
 I'm more willing to live with.