How could it be already a week? If I miss you so much, and
being apart makes my heart hurt, then, where did the time go?
If I don’t know when we’d see each other again, if I don’t
really know anything about you, then, how could I know I’d love you until the
end of the time?
If this is what a grown up relationship feels like, if I see
my life through this looking glass, then, may I tell you what I see?
I see you and me, in matching charcoal black wool coats, and
thick, hand knit brown hats, holding hands. It’s the dead of winter, the sun
has long set, yet the moon has not risen, northern lights or the arrival of a
commercial flight? Blearly, reluctantly, penetrating lights finally ready to be
swallowed whole by the same darkness. Who are those passengers? Are our
children, our children’s children on board? The snowstorm has finally stopped,
icicles hanging low, break they shall, dimmed snow-covered streetlights, a
black cat stretching on the side of the slightly elevated road, green
shining marble eyes staring down.
I’m finally gray, and you are finally frail, we are not
saying anything; we need not say anything. Footprints are slowly forming on
the snow-covered walk. You know I have always loved you. And this is the end of
the road.
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