Afters

The night is cool and sticky at the same time, a headache throbs beneath your temples but the little light burns so calmly in your chest, unperturbed. The streets are loud again, but you are quiet, even as you ramble: you are safe. He asks what you’ve learned about children and you think tenderly of 20 years worth of humans whose hands you’ve held, whose stories you’ve heard, whose laughter you’ve joined. Perhaps you were only trying to heal the cracks in your own broken history, but if it means 20 years of loving unconditionally those who should never know less, perhaps we can allow it.

I still sleep on one side of the bed. My muscle memory misses you on the other.