I’ve turned my shoulder to the wind, but there is no end to the old road I was on. I can’t un-walk the miles, I can’t take back the time. I can only carry on. That’s the danger of colliding with other people. Not the collateral damage you do to each other, or the ache in your fingers for theirs.

The distance between your lunch dates may span lifetimes and lightyears, but you’ll always find each other in your most mundane dreams, pretending not to see each other from the corners of third eyes.

You may turn your back, gather your sacred things, leave each other out of conversations, but when you get a ringing in your ear, you’ll know it’s them. When you think of them staring out your kitchen window at golden hour, you’re doing dishes in each other’s imaginations, you’re inhabiting the same sphere of unacknowledged spinal column sensations.

Our every entwining is a maybe, a question mark, an uncertainty of anything, a throwing of the ropes to a nor’easter and a hoping for a something. And they never, ever end.

If your heart breaks, so does mine. If my heart beats, does yours? I think so.

“Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day.”