It’s what we don’t hear… the poetry of the unspoken word… leaves that crush beneath our feet softly as if pressing fingers to lips… shhh…stop talking… listen to her… look at her. We think of it as instinct but humor me… two nights ago I knew not a single feeling of chill in the air.. outside with you I was inside the rhythm of speech within you that had I not adhered to I might have had cold hands… reaching out to hold your hand was not instinct… it came from you but was far from command… it was a connection that through Thinsulate fabrics I felt the beat and pulse of your heart… you sniffled and I looked up… and every street light bounced off every golden leaf still attached to trees which then reflected onto you and I was at a loss for.words… knew not what to say… so I laughed… and continued the connection… listen to me…

To be forgotten is to live an existence that beckoned to not be remembered… that should never be considered as an outcome or option… yet the two sat across from one another without speaking… all that sat between them was dead silence, a kitchen table, a deck of cards, a book of matches and a candle… the day had become night and outside deafening with silence as much as what was in the apartment. .. without warning the lights on the block went out… and they sat in the darkness momentarily before even thinking of lighting the candle… when the very notion to do so arrived the couple realized that there was only one match left in the book… “this is our first and last try” she whispered then handed him the matches while holding onto the candle herself… the tension of failure and success filled each of them with an intense rush of ‘what if’… ripping the match from the book and striking it against the sandpaper strip the match sparked to life with limited vitality…. so she quickly brought the candle to the flame so that it become lit… once lit she sat the candle back down between them… for the first time in a long time they looked at one another… with the dim lighting all that was seen were their faces and their eyes which the light from the flame danced against… they began to remember how they came to be… they began to speak… they began to play a very outdated almost forgotten card game… but someone switched all 52 cards in the deck to the suit of hearts… so they invented a new game called if the next one is hearts… in which they would exchange kisses for the number attached to the cards…. if a king or queen popped up they would say “you are my king/queen” and share a long passionate kiss… they played through all 52 cards and shortly after the candle burned out… it was once again dark… they were now naked holding each other close… they each whispered I love you and the night was never the same…. no night was ever the same…. things come and go, a candle can burn out but the moments when they are lit, light the intimacy within us all… they never need to go completely out.