Then there was the time we sat holding hands, our backs pressed against the wrinkled trunk of an oak tree like a bent grandfather, watching the night submit to unchangeable ways, seeing the sun come up for the very first time.

At the not-careful age of whatever-it-was, we knew we’d really seen something – a first glimpse into the exhilarating stillness of the world, away from the expectations of all the adults, away from the blah-blah-blah of other kids.  And a first glimpse of the fire that could not much longer be contained, binding us to our bodies ever after.

We shared those first moments in that faded blue sleeping bag, and then sitting at the foot of that tree, with a sunrise carefully designed to tremble our worlds with feelings we didn’t even know existed.

Not long after, your parents moved away, and you with them.  That’s when I began to think of love as a cactus.  It looks cool, but if you touch it yer gonna bleed.

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