i caught a glimpse of her once, just as she was leaving. the sunlight cut her face like a scalpel, and she flinched. in the doorway, the dogs barking at her feet, the day's bags suspended from her frame.
the one with her wallet, her phone. her purse pinched in the crook of her elbow. the one with her lunch, also there. the backpack with her water bottle and planner riding high on her trapezius muscles. the ones holding last night's tears still hovering above her cheeks.
and she isn't wearing the necklace i gave her last year on her birthday, i can see the pale line on her collarbone where it lived. but why would she? the ring i bought fits perfectly in the kitchen junk drawer, she is unadorned.
i tried calling out to her, but the dogs, and she didn't have the time. the earth shakes and the world sharpens it's blade again. she turns toward her car in the driveway and melts back into routine. a piece of blue-black hair falls across her face, and i am in love with her again. but things change, and look how naturally she goes.