The water lapped at my ankles and I thought, what if I just kept going? Would it be so terrible, to taste your name like salt on my tongue? The water lapped at my ankles. I dug my toes in the sand.
I balled up my grief between my hands, like snow, until the cold settled into my bones. I imagined I could hear your voice calling me into the house. My fingers opened; I left my sorrow under the junipers, waiting for spring.
Some stories come gently, drifting in and settling on the page. Others stories fight the telling. Tooth and claw, they snarl and bite. I wrestled a wolverine into a cage and left it on your doorstep. I dare you to open it.
Small things add up. They tip the scales no matter how light. Smiles on tiny squares of paper, air in my tires. Kisses tossed from the top of the porch steps. All I can give in return are words and golden promises.
The History of Time
The universe expanded and contracted. Stars were born; stars died. Entire civilizations rose and fell and rose, golden ages giving way to silver and silver to their own slow inevitable decline. All in the few short seconds since your lips left mine.