I don't have a concept of time

She
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coffee still warm in her hands,
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like small prayers into the kitchen light
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each wisp a
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of absolute presence
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where time seemed to pause
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and she could feel
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the weight of being
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the lightness of becoming
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the way love exists in the space between breaths
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when he said
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that weren't "I love you" but meant the same:
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he'd whispered
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though what he meant was
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in this imperfect moment
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where the dishes need washing
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and the cat is crying for food
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where we are together"
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and flawed and trying
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always trying
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to build something that outlasts
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that comes for all of us, eventually
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like snow covering footprints
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like silence after the last word
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as if that single syllable could
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against the current of time that
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memories, moments
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the way light fell across the table that morning
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how his hand
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slightly, imperceptibly to anyone but her
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who had learned to read the language of his
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the way archaeologists read ruins: carefully, with reverence for what remains and grief for what is lost