In the Blink of an Eye

By Chandra Martin

He meets her—
a glance held just long enough
to tilt the room.
Two strangers close,
the air learning their names.

Long talks that stretch past midnight.
Plates rinsed and left to dry.
A life easing itself
into place.
A promise said once,
and meant.

Then you—
breath and weight,
hands curled around the future.

In the blink of an eye,
shoes by the door.
A backpack tugging at your shoulders.
A wave from the curb
that lingers after the car pulls away.

You grow into your height.
They study your face
the way they once studied each other.

Later, you meet him.
The feeling recognizes you first.
You follow.

Rings.
Laughter.
Nights divided into hours and cries,
love learning new shapes
in the dark.

In the blink of an eye,
the house is quieter.
You don’t remember
when it learned to be.

Hands over hands.
Voices finding their echoes.

You watched them.
They watched you.
Now someone else is watching.

You close your eyes
and let go—

and what you made
keeps going.