Everything ends. You will end. As will I. This winter, these frozen cobwebs of memory like so many rivulets of ice will melt into spring lakes My smooth hands will gnarl like roots of old trees, and you won’t recognize them anymore.
One day, seeing a stranger, you’ll run from me when i ask you to dance, and your frantic footbeats will fade away, leaving an empathetic silence.
Waiting. Winter concise in tongue says, “It will never happen. It can’t.” Black birds chatty squeal “She’s forgotten, she’s forgotten you” like playground children in keep-away. Wood floorboards beneath my spine reason “Be content in memory, it is enough.”
I listen, and I wait. Only the snowy owl, rare in visits, winks “One day, one day. You’ll see.”