I can still feel the stubble from my Papaw’s cheek on my lips.
I can still feel your fingers in mine.
Stillness, it exists, but only in our perceptions because the earth orbits the sun, and the cars keep rolling on, and our eyes must blink and our hearts must beat and the blood must move until it doesn’t.
I can still feel the weightlessness from your piggy back rides.
I can still feel your shirt as I rub my hand down your round belly.
It is white, as pure as the skin that sits on your still face, now and for good, and the word forever is something only humans like to use.
Dr. Manhattan teaches us how to tell time, but even he can’t stop himself from loving.