i am looking for answers. i think this is what i have always been looking for.
a little story, or punctuation, to end the impossible sentence.
it was near a year ago now, i sat with my dearest friend in mismatched chairs.
in the nook of those wide mountains, i said, this is the best carrot i have ever eaten.
it was winter, and they had dressed the little stalks like royalty. oil. salt. a little honey for glaze.
that morning, a stranger had held my hand as we walked the steep incline.
she did not let go. even when sweat beaded between us.
it was the first time i had been touched like that in two months.
it is so simple what reminds us of loving again.
no—what wakes the love in us again. like love is a thing that can sleep.
like love can be stirred. with oil. salt. a little honey for glaze.
i told my friend of the carrots, and the long walk through high snow, and the stranger.
they told me, carrots taste the best after a hard frost.
it’s the cold that shocks starch into sugar. it’s a jolt that turns the everyday into dessert.
