Same You, Different Marvel

There are days when I would run out of words to say because poetry would have cartwheeled its way in between our sweaty palms as we rush down our favourite sunlit fields in fits of laughter hand in hand, or in between your tangled curly hair I couldn’t braid in between rushed morning school runs, or in between imaginary enchanted forests we’d play hopscotch for hours before sunset, or in between the same comfort of sunlight we’d chase each day but never get enough of. It’s funny how we look at the same sky with a different kind of marvel each day, each hour. But I guess maybe that’s how it is with the things we love - I have a picture of you captured on my phone each day; same smile, new love.