Magpie 181

it was just me then, a girl in a mirror, closing her eyes, a little smile when she moved just so and a bit like this and that.

my girlhood, my memory of those years, hearing music and turning and dipping, it was never anything i left behind, just the part of me tucked away.

my sweet, my dear, you said, and we were suddenly standing in a train station in the southern hemisphere, your hand on the small of my back as i showed you one, two, step, one, two, step, and you smiled at me just so.

in the evenings i’d look at my feet, my reminders of that world where i looked up and smiled at the crowd, kicking my legs up and flying across the air, face made up and songs that impress in my mind to this day, words that cause a toe to point, a chin to rise, a flair to the hand and faraway gaze in the eye.

not long ago, we stood in the street of the northern hemisphere, my hand in yours as they played an old country tune and we danced to it, that little sway to his banjo and i was yours, we were home, home in each others arms.

and i remember, way back when, even with the joy and the rhythm, it could never compare to the slow waltz of our quiet afternoons. that’s all, and tomorrow there’ll be more.

“It scares me how hard it is to remember life before you. I can’t even make the comparisons anymore, because my memories of that time have all the depth of a photograph. It seems foolish to play games of better and worse. It’s simply a matter of is and is no longer.” ― David Levithan


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