as we click the lines, closed. and i put on that song you sent me a week ago that i've neglected to download and queue and stop the god damned world for approximately 5 minutes to, actually, listen. i fall into a memory of falling into your arms somewhere i can't quite place, now, in the maps of our life after you moved from the apartment you accidentally called ours. once. over the phone. some asphalt late on the way home from nowhere special when you were angry with me for being stupid and i was angry with you for wanting me to be less so. children. we were. both. holding hands and swinging on the way to the market. day lights fading and whiskey on our minds. just like children. stuck together with the realization of something bigger than themselves. ready and not yet ready. soon. soon. ready to grow.