Often.
Sitting in a room in need of paint.
The sun crisscrossing the mismatched palettes.
The slow hum of laughter and random conversation.
Often.
Sitting on a couch, from a store with a weird name.
Nestled in the cushion…a faded polaroid of us.
Smeared with breakfast syrup.
Open Crayola markers litter every table already covered with random things.
Often.
Still.
Standing in the middle of a crowd.
Hands holding tight.
A whisper of I love you.
Every day and often.
