Sitting quietly, we discuss our past lives
and future plans.
Her wispy breaths outline a foggy memory
on the wind chilled glass.
As I trace a heart into her palm,
I recognize the metaphor hidden within:
My whole existence buried in her hand,
as malleable as clay.
Walking the tight rope between codependent and independent,
needing someone and simultaneously needing no one.
Understanding the importance of a moment,
even in the face of the insignificance of it all.
As I feel the warmth from the far away sun,
it reminds me of the beauty in life.
Helping keep any lingering cynicism dormant,
at least for now.