new years eve confused

Front row seats for new years eve. Waiting for the fireworks. You show up sometime after nine. I call you Lily.

"Lily," I say, "are you ready to kiss me?"

"My name's not Lily," you say, "but I'll still kiss you. Just say when and where." You brush the hair out of your eyes.

Dick Clark's on TV, but we're nowhere near a TV. Instead, I look into your eyes. They're green, blue, brown, and red. In the right light, they sometimes look gray, like the insides of some TVs.

"Lily," I say, "I think we need to buy a TV."

"My name's not Lily, but I'll buy you a TV anyway."

There's a ball dropping somewhere, but we can't see it. Instead, I ask you to sit on my lap and whisper something in my ear. You countdown from 10 to 0. At zero, you look into my eyes.

"In the right light," you say, "I can see Lily in your eyes."

I think you're right.

"Lily," I say. "I think I love you."

"I love you too," Lily says.

We hold each other into the night, way past midnight. Lily falls asleep around three. When morning comes, we're still in the same moment. The skies are gray.

Still asleep, I wonder what color Lily's eyes are.