Upstate

When you apologize for all the things you bring with you, he says, it's not that much, really. When you fall ill after dinner, he cleans the kitchen and tucks you in. When you disagree about your views on the future, it's a game of curiosity, not a duel to the death. The snow falls outside the upstate windows and you have no fear, because everything has been made light.

In the early morning, you tip toe downstairs to the kitchen, just as dawn paints the snow in pinks and violets, the streets quiet, the old house creaking peacefully, while he lies sleeping in the attic nook you've known and loved so long. Nothing seems different, but you do. Nothing looks different, but you are. Your ears ring with the silence. 

But your mind speaks volumes, all on its own.