At first I wondered why the cold made me ache for you, but then I knew: because it made me feel. Made me feel my bones, my breath between them; what it takes to live, what it takes to feel my life.
I smiled into a not yet icy wind; sped along that pathway made of bricks, my toes finding all the ones that were not so set on being set. Laughing at my bare feet; no, laughing at the others' shoes. How they felt the soles of their boots and called it earth. But how you walked naked even in hotels.
And you there, at the end of my lone string of bricks, at the end of yours; you're smiling, waiting. You hadn't known where they went, just that you had to follow. But curious when you saw another's touch, saw them both swirl in knots ahead. Paused to look back down this different path, saw my hair snapping in the wind. You waited for me to get there on my own; they were my bricks.
And I could feel my bones. And I could feel my breath between them.
And our greeting words: Of course.
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