Seattle, 2011 (Kodak Tri-X 400)
You tapped her shoulders.
When she finally turned, your hair had turned greyer, your face had new lines. When she stood up, your eyelids had drooped a little more, the ends of your mouth tugged down a little further. It wasn’t gravity. When she turned to face you completely, your hands, now aged and wise, had started to tremble. There was a deep, permanent dent between your forehead from loving. When she lifted her eyes, your hearing was impaired in one ear and sharper in the other, your eyes hidden beneath a milky layer. When your eyes met, you became as young as can be, flying, free of bodily limitations, not needing pain nor food nor drink to live;
dissipating into the air, as soothing as music, she embraced you, breathed you in, accepted you