Our Old Love dances in the kitchen between the pots and the pans. It sings to the hum of the heater turned up and down. Our Old Love sweetens the coffee with low fat milk in the morning when it’s just too dark. It seeps into the laundry in the gentle cycle. It shuffles the newspapers across the bed and kicks off the blankets. Our Old Love floats through the wide spaces between with extended arms. It appears on the shelves beside the covers of a thousand jumbled books like a forever thing. Happy Valentine’s Day my dear love Harper. It’s a forever thing.
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Roseann Weiss
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