Meander

He wants me to feel at home. And suddenly, he himself does not.

He has looked into my eyes, and is reminded of that which neither died nor lived.
Stumped by the ‘0’ when he tried calculating the rate of depreciation for his feelings.

I know I upset him when I step back from the edge. I mean no harm. I just don’t share this fascination with staring down deep wells.
He has come to find the view thrilling. He can say, with some certainty, that he will never fall. Never slip.

For me, he relinquishes his favourite chair, before wrapping a shawl around his shoulders. In anticipation of catching something from watching the sunset on my hair.

We’ve never agreed on where this goes. We’ve never discussed it, in fact.

There are no milestones in the garden.
Whenever we meet, we enjoy walking together.