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31,702 Steps

Thirty-one thousand,
seven hundred
and two steps
more or less we had the same count
him striding in front of me, most of the time
the cityscape beckoning me to stay

we wrapped our heads around this tryst
although it was mostly my heels over my head
because to him it’s just pure science
and there’s a logical end, one outcome

but the defiant artist in me painted
another picture:

to be clueless again, heart yet unjaded
and to not be unwanted, body yet unworn

feet apart, together, then apart, and again
chasing one after the other, taking another step
paths once more crossing, for reasons unknown.

About time, at the Central Station
in our last ten slow, synced steps before he left,
he pulled me closer and kissed me, now longingly
under the bursting June-first afternoon sun
in front of the cafe brimming with spectators
still gazing at our momentary cinematic bliss
timely trains halted
more and more fellow travellers bustled
old city of docking boats and ships,
fresh produce, waterways, rabbit holes,
one loyal dog, old tales and cathedral walls,
statues and giants, taxpayers, cycling sailors,
stone forts, prints and souvenirs, family trees
steel birds, and ducks and bees and blooms,
footpaths hidden in the whispering woods,
traces left by each of our thirty-one thousand,
seven hundred and two steps.