At some point I looked up and realized we were alone. Time had led us here, separated — our life together slowly crystallizing on the other side of the country. We stepped in on occasion. Occupied a collapsed cavity, carved it open again. Returned quickly and often regretfully to solitude, and sometimes loneliness. Delivered ourselves to what we had built without each other.
The arc of our universe is long, but it bends toward together, most days. On the days I catch a glance of my most loyal self, it does. On the days I chop garlic thinking about you, it does. On the days I remember you on highway 287, alone, it does.
Some days I hang up first & cut the strings of our tin can telephone. Some days I forget.
Another birthday without you, another dress at the back of my closet, another flight to Tampa, another morning into morning into morning into guilt-ache — breaking & persistent.
Someday, we’ll be together. Someday, we’ll peel fuji apples in the park.
Everything happens so much slower than we want.