The Aftertaste of a Week
That week, we only had a week, felt like a spell cast carelessly by the universe. We did not plan for it, nor did we deserve it any more than others do, but it arrived, shimmering and intact. Each morning opened like a curtain and revealed us, a little dazed, laughing at nothing, talking about everything. Each night closed with the kind of quiet I had always longed for, not silence, but presence. You never once made me feel invisible, or small, or ornamental. There was no effort in your kindness, no calculation in your attention. You simply were, and I simply floated.
