i waited for you in the park.
when you arrived,
you held me,
and your cold nose pressed against my neck.
you nuzzled me,
and our skin quickly
adapted to one another;
mine cooled, or yours warmed
i’m not sure.
i was happy and
excited about what we might become.
the sun and an early spring day
marked the passage of time
and life moving forward.
these were early days—before
waiting became an annoyance,
before illness,
when i didn’t understand what
holding my breath truly meant.
the anticipation of test results slowed time,
and hours in the treatment chair
felt like lifetimes.
after my first seizure,
when the illness forced my world apart,
time shifted. 
you found me
coming to the emergency room
to gather the pieces.
fresh from outdoors,
from the chill of an early
chicago spring day,
remembering this:
your cold nose
pressing into my neck,
i can still feel it as time slowed.
and why can’t these moments
be eternity?
when two bodies
seek a common temperature,
can’t this search last forever?