A Year in Prose

The strangest part, the most beautiful part, was how nothing changed. You and I both saw it, creeping into the edges of our lives, and we prepared. To everyone else, it came as a strike of lightning. There was a before and an after. Not to us. Everything is as it was, except for a glittering promise. I feel the same. I feel tired, you feel busy. We field questions about change, but feel none. We look the same, in the same skin, the same people we were before. We said goodbye until the fall. I will work, so will you. We will talk at night. We will count the days.

I look at the ring, and feel the same woman who left this country. I look at you, and still feel love bursting like a tempest from my chest, a tempest seeking to cover us, drown us, consume us, press us into one.