We were together, I forget the rest. 

A paraphrase. In Leaves of Grass Walt Whitman writes Day by day and night by night we were together--all else had long been forgotten by me.

Like most things, I prefer the original. The paraphrase might be pithier, and look sweeter on a tapestry, but it over-simplifies time. 

This time in quarantine--day by day and night by night--has been the sweetest gift of togetherness. I don't say this to minimize the traumas of time, either. Much has been lost, or mis-timed, weddings, unveilings, birthdays, holidays--and tragic of all, deaths of loved ones. But it has given me a new awareness of time. How hours disappear before our very eyes; what I could do with, what feels like, bountiful time. How time can make a fool out of the most foolish. All the things that can go said, and unsaid, over time. 

This time has given me space to be more introspective than I have probably wanted to be. To focus on gratitudes, decide which battles to fight and how to let go. It has given us the most eye-opening midnight talks. There's something about witching hour and how it brings out an honesty that daylight hides. I have been most grateful for these talks. This togetherness. 

For me, the world has felt like it is splitting in a big, gaping, way. Microcosmically, I think my world has gotten used to factions. The last year has been a splitting. My childhood prompted a splitting...but, together. Him and I. When the world gets dark and the day washes over me--I  forget the rest. 

Tomorrow the countdown hits double-digits. 

Since this countdown began, there have been so many changes to what I used to know. And, while my understanding of the world--of my world-- has been pushed and pulled in the past four-hundred-days, I know one thing to be true. 

The only world that matters is the one we create here. How lucky am I, to have the whole world in my hand.