BEFORE WE WERE STRANGERS

We had a fight in the car as it wound on the back roads through the mountains. You yelled, and I turned away to look out of the window sullenly as the trees flicked past and blurred into one another. We pulled into a dirt lot bristling from the exchange. Took turns apologizing despite how sorry we actually were. Neither of us slammed the door. Neither spoke either. Side by side we walked up the trail, silently but not uncomfortably.

By the end of the hike we were laughing and holding hands once more. The earlier disagreement forgotten. We took silly photos and picked wildflowers to take put in a vase on our kitchen table. On the ride back I drifted off as I happily gazed at the same trees as before. I remember thinking in the fringes right before sleep that I could gladly spend forever next to you.

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