We had nowhere to be,

no obligations to fulfill.

A familiar stroll

down a grey gravel path

half-stuck

to someone else’s shoes.

There

we found safety and serenity

in life’s

mundane

monotony.

But the repetition

of pondside flowers and

flowing fountains

weekend after weekend

bleached away the vibrant colors

and the childlike excitement

that brought us there the first time.

So, we ventured out,

chasing a fleeting feeling,

pursuing a wistful whim.

We found sinking swamps

full of frogs and mosquitoes,

mud that sank

under a feather’s weight.

We walked along lush lakefronts

full of water lilies and meadowlarks,

lurching bridges balanced

delicately

on bouncing buoys

that swayed

with every whisper

of a passing breeze.

We discovered ourselves

in faces reflected

on the lake’s

wavy wakes.

We discovered each other

among limestone stalactites

in an underground cavern

and swaying palms

towering over

a tropical tourist town.

We learned along the way

that to wander the earth,

as we always planned to do,

we would have to travel

hand in hand—

so that if I tripped on a rock

you would keep me steady,

and if you slipped on damp leaves

I would catch your fall.

We learned that

love’s trail,

twisting and turning

through foreign feelings,

is best traveled

without fear.

So, we vowed

a November Valentine’s promise—

to reach snow-capped mountaintops

and sand-dusted beaches,

together.

Our world

hasn’t expanded much

beyond paved pathways

through winding woods

since,

but our whole lives

lie ahead of us,

and our pace,

while slow,

is steady.

And we wouldn’t have it

any other way.