Lying on his back in Washington Park he can feel Earth spinning below him, spinning him and everyone else, he feels connected. The girl lying beside him doesn't love him, he knows his main attraction is that he is leaving in a few weeks. The slow moving grey overhead doesn't care, Earth doesn't care, he knows he really doesn't care either.
It's early February, the ground is dry but he can feel months of Oregon rain seeping up into his back, it will take two weeks in the Sydney sun before he feels truly warm again. He recalls the first time he felt Earth spinning like this, the same time of year, a few days before the end of Summer school holidays in Australia, lying on the warm concrete of a suburban driveway, watching the first clouds he'd seen in months float across the sky as it turned from blue to grey. He felt connected then too, not really sure what to. It wasn't until years later, flying towards an American west coast sunrise, realizing that same sunrise would hit his home in a few hours, just a few weeks before he met the girl lying beside him, not until then did he understand how small this planet is.
Back home there is a girl, she lives in his street, he is still hopelessly in love with her. He could easily fall for the girl next to him right now but knows better. They are both the same, just humans standing on the same planet. It doesn't make any difference who loves who, who doesn't, Earth will continue spinning, until, like a faded love affair, it stops.
Parkstreet.
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