Slowing Down
To us, my love.
To the slow march of time that separated two hearts,
two beats that grow to their own rhythms,
similar enough to mash,
a measurable silence between Goodbye and Hello.
To the future.
That place that looks cozy in the distance
because we're too busy here
to see the smoke stains on the ceiling,
or the rust in the plumbing.
Maybe we'll bid on this old house our culture has built,
maybe we'll rent it for a while.
To you love.
Because we write this story every time we think of each other,
and we can never remember the end.