A Kiss Before the Crossroads - for Andrea Ryer

I remember we haven’t been to France. Paris falls into our minds with the bedroom window open and the cool autumn breeze over our bodies. Wind repeatedly bangs the door into its frame again and again, whips leaves in a rattle through the yard. We huddle closer under the covers, knit together a breath to warm our chests, my feet, and your wrist through the winter. Our hearts thump harder when we’re together. United in a word after a walk home. It doesn’t matter that we sometimes prefer the quiet, wet streets to get here. Please stop me at the crossroads, watch with me for the traffic, and kiss me before we continue on our way. I can only promise to do the same for you. I always will.