It wasn’t the way you laughed —
though that helped.

It was the way the room
unhooked from my shoulders
when the music swelled
and your hand found mine
without asking who might see.

In that moment
I was not history.
Not repair.
Not responsibility.

Just a pulse
answered by another pulse.

I called it you.

But maybe it was the light
that slips in
when a window opens
for a song.

The B Side Soundtrack

A little music for the moment.