time has marched on tip-toes and quietly ushered us along.
as the rain fell heavy in the quiet dark of the night, i remembered the scratch of the metal on cafeteria linoleum.
the way my breath caught when i realized he sat down next to me, because of me.
the sunlight caught his eyes that afternoon, and the rich chocolate that drew me in sparkled with flecks of emerald green.
i look at him now, 11 years older.
our linoleum protests with the sound of wooden chairs.
chaos ensues and sometimes some conversations wait for the quiet of the night...when whispers draw us in.
but sometimes? shouting over the noise?
we need to lean in then too.
always, life has made us lean into each other.
even, when hiding behind my shame, moving just out of his grasp...
even then, he leaned in and pulled me back to himself.
even, when reeling in the pain of finding his dad, moving just out of my grasp,
even then, i leaned in and cupped his face in my hands and wouldn't let him go.
and time marches quietly and we are the metronome that sways in tempo with the rhythm that picked up the moment he pulled back that chair.
and i'll keep leaning in...
always.
