Before I met you, time stood as a washing machine stuck on a soak cycle. Where I was was in the vice grip of drowning in loneliness, weighted with the world—the loneliness of which I couldn’t contain, maintaining a crooked smile.
We met at an airport in Carolina, maintaining unbreakable eye contact. You wore a skirt, and I a uniform. I was 3,000 miles from where I live, but home is with you.