A Walk

I passed your house today. I didn’t mean to. I just went for a walk and found myself on your street, strange. I had forgotten where you live, and the smell of the oak trees. It’s quiet here on Sunday morning, I can hear the breeze.

I find myself slowing down and remembering the last night I walked through your door, its slow weighted movement and red brown hue. You held me, kissed me, entered me. You shuddered and collapsed into me, whispering, breathless,

“I love you”

I curl into you and say nothing. Wrapped in your arms you pull me closer. I linger awhile and enjoy the warmth and touch. You drift in and out of sleep, uttering affirmations of affection every time your eyes open and I’m still there.

When I leave you say it again.

“I love you.”

I leave the phrase in the air as I walk out the door.

The boy you loved died in your arms. I stand here in front of your manicured lawn, and colourful garden as a woman you wouldn’t recognize. One last look at your red brown door and I walk on,

“I love you,” hanging in the air.