In somewhere like West Virginia. After the bakery. Before dinner feels forced.
After a mother duck and her ducklings are threatened by a crow in a parking lot.
Over a bowl of vegetable kurma. When you’re happier alone. After guilt or after ruin.
Before you count their drinks, let the sunset be the sunset.
Before you wonder where they’ve gone. When the mirror is just a mirror.
Before you buy that motorcycle or sleep with her friend.
Take a moment, wait for the stars and what used to be good.
Maybe it’s easier to know what love isn’t.