46

Four years passed in a slow tear at your flesh. How different we were then; we didn't know how bad it could be, how bad it could become, but a weight settled in my chest that day that did not let up until just a few hours ago, when new oaths were sworn, new faces were set into our official offices. I cried when they repeated the words. I cried when they spoke, when they walked, I cried at every nail hammered into the coffin of what was. Four years. Before so many things. 

You take your time, my love, in getting through this life. You always did. You speak fast but move slow, because your moves are deliberate. I do not step back once I have at last stepped forward. I have this place on a post-it. I have your name on a post-it, I have everything planned on a post-it I am
not ready. 

But though times moves slowly, it moves forward. I will be ready. 

You better be too.