tap any word. it does something dumb.
As I sit and take in
the fifth headline I’ve read today:
“Ceasefire breaks before the morning.”
“Record-high heat comes without warning.”
“Children pulled from ash and stone.”
“Shots reported three blocks from home.”
Everything starts to feel uncertain.
Will I even be alive in twenty years?
Will there be an earth left for us in ten?
The only thing I know for certain,
in this absurd and fragile thing called being alive,
is my love for you.
When I’m with you,
the world feels less like a mistake,
less like something I was thrown into
without instructions.
It feels more perfect than anything
I could ever dream up late at night.
When you’re away,
at least the memory of you keeps me company:
your cute little head scratches,
your big loud laugh,
the way your hand finds mine
like it has been looking for me all day.
Sometimes I look at you
and it makes me believe there has to be a God,
because I do not know how else to explain
a beauty like yours being possible.
Life still hurts.
The world still finds new ways
to make itself unbearable.
But with you,
the hurt does not disappear.
It just has somewhere soft to land.
And although everything feels uncertain,
my love for you is not.
It will persist long after we pass,
long after the headlines stop meaning anything,
long after this world has finished making noise.
And if there is an afterlife,
I’ll find you there too,
probably late to our date
because I had to stop for flowers.
I love you so much, Kate.
