we heard them talking about a meteor shower expected later that night highly anticipated set to accompany the rust red supermoon that we caught following us home
lay down upon blankets a meagre effort to provide at least a little comfort while we witnessed this astral magnificence the significance of which none of us was certain childishly imagining a spectacle from the dazzling of shooting stars trailing tails like fireworks pointing in wonder appearing briefly before burning out
instead we found ourselves staring up at one of those countless spots of white slowly unenthusiastically drifting across the stratosphere it could be a meteor maybe just an aeroplane or simply a twinkling trick of the light yet still we watched without excitement without direction without relevance
a palette of blue and white swirls around the drain while the reflection of us blurs in the mirror you sit with your back turned out of shame or modesty? for my comfort? or yours? i wash your delicate white hair trying not to lose any strands to the stream and stare at how your spine protrudes through skin how the muscles in your back expand and contract so slowly as your lungs search for oxygen you close your eyes and enjoy the warmth while tears form in mine for how time eludes us for how the past becomes the future for how fragile you feel beneath my fingers you might break, any minute now or maybe it is i who will break first.