The cultivation of us

I found you in the wilderness. The age of fire, of stone, of ice.

You warmed up to me. Eventually.



We danced that night, with no light but that from the stars. The age of songs, music and flowers.

You looked to the left of my eyes. Stared at my lips. I pretended I didn't see.



I stood before you with nothing but myself to offer. The age of time, of clocks and symphonys.

You held my face in your hands and we laughed at what the future showed us.



I lost you in the forest. The age of rain, of damp and silence.

And I waited.



You ran back into my life. I grasped your hand as you kissed my eyelids. The age of promises, of eternity, of renewal.

The morning light washed our inequites, as holiness atones sin.



I watched you walk towards me, surrounded by light, a new certainty in your eyes. The age of silver cutlery, of wooden doors, of renaissance.

Before everyone we knew, before the heavens we declared.



You held my hand as we cried together. Tears of unspeakable joy. The age of new life, of tiny handprints, of blessing.

Guided by what we knew with all our hearts, we grew together. Expanded.



For an age is never enough to spend with you. A legacy created in the ripple of our lives is merely an echo of what we knew was to come.

And finally, we spun slowly underneath the chandelier of ages, embracing each moment of our history as eternity claimed us for its own.