You’re so close but so far away.

I’m watching your fingers tremble there gray and green, round and warm, curling out to reach my hand. As your thumb circles my palm, your neck cranes back to point your chin to the ceiling, eyes shut. Your white throat turns red as the color flushes up to your jaw and forehead, spreading with your lips through to my face. Something makes you laugh. Warm. Motionless. I turn back.

The days are growing longer. There’s a cold wind blowing over our heads and through the leaves, opening the branches and letting in the gray morning light to brush our cheeks. With your other hand, you reach to your face and press your fingers into the light, measuring its tension.

Round again, towards my shoulder. Hazel and pollen fill our lungs. Warm. You’re the best of my worst days. I’m trying very hard.

Still. Easy.

You let me forget myself. You let me forget everything.