Golden Hours

Just the steam from the kettle and the soft glow on the glass, washing away the memory of rain. It's the first poetry of my day, and I lean into it, letting the mist settle on my skin like a benediction. I stand in the doorway, my favorite cashmere tight around me, waiting for you to heed the call. And the shadows retreat from the floor as you appear, babe. Bare feet on cool tile, your smile truly like a small sun pushing all the dark corners out of the room. It isn't a blinding light; still, it pulls the air right out of my lungs, even after all this time. Like you turn on the light in the whole world, just for me.  Seeing you in that worn-in shirt, with your hair still tousled from sleep, is a sight I know by heart, but still, my breath hitches just a little. The sun crested as I finally arrived at your side, dear. You're the beautiful terrain of my soul. The toast is waiting on the counter, and your laughter rings out like a crystal chime. We were just standing by the wi...

It’s been two o'clock since I sat down, tracing the grain of this ancient, town-tasting bench. Hours gone, and still, the curve of the wood is pressed into my memory, shimmering behind my eyelids. I couldn't help myself; I carved my name right next to yours, as if that were enough. The sun cast down a dazzling blessing too grand to merely backdrop my whole life. Now, I just feel so foolish and hollowed out, like I've been scraped down to the studs. Like a home after the move, where the sun shines cruelly on the bare floorboards, and all you can see is the dust dancing in the empty spaces where everything used to belong. I filed my nails on the splintered green, watching the light decay. I held onto the color of that blush of the afternoon sky until it was nothing more than a bruise fading into the coming black. If you're going to arrive, it has to be now, under this golden light. I kept faith with the rustling leaves, just in case your shadow slipped through. I strained...