Member-only story
Winter’s Parchment
on endless love
Aiding and abetting my shadow, I caress her
down off my shoulders. Trying to rub out knots
of the day, away on bark like a deer in the rut.
Standing beside her on our parapet, we watch
the scene below unfold in vast arrays of paper
leaves. Busy scribbling, and packaging up
their goodbyes in tiny red suitcases
on display in a grand lobby.
We breathe, somewhere between the depth
and contrast of rustling and bustling of those
who find seasons a bother, and those who circle
the same park each afternoon before two,
managing to become lost in wonder every time.
I don’t recall much about that year.
Only the important details.
How the temperature of your palm
was always the precise one mine needed.
The way your hand clutched
with a delicate, bittersweet embrace all its own.
The tang
of unspoken.
