Every room I enter, I am looking.
Not scanning. Not browsing.
Looking.
The way the faithful look for signs.
Years of faces.
Years of almost.
Years of wrong mouth, wrong laugh,wrong silence.
Then you.
Not lightning. Not revelation.
Just recognition, like remembering a word I didn't know I'd forgotten.
And still.
Still, when you turn toward me, my chest forgets it has done this before.