moving day

We danced up and down the stairs, smiling and chatting and teasing, arms full of boxes and fragments of your life. You gave me a light box, and instructions to take it upstairs; you took a heavy box, deep into the basement. On my way down the bright stairs, you surprised me at the landing, caught me with your grin and your eyes.
Hi, you said, grin broadening, hands settling on my hips, forehead leaning into mine.
Oh hey, I smiled back, arms resting on yours, hands in the crooks of your elbows.
The house smelled of new-- fresh paint, fine-sanded sawdust, plaster, hopes, dreams. Your grin was deep and bright and overwhelming, as you spun me there in the sunny landing. Our steps were disjointed and ungraceful, but I laughed, head back in delight. There was so much promise all around, in the new walls and stairs and windows, and in the way you held me, like a treasure. There were so many reasons to smile, so smile we did, into each other's faces and eyes and souls, as we wound our arms around each other like we'd never let go. But soon enough we did, and went back to lugging boxes in and out.

Somehow my heart remained in that sunny corner, laughing and twirling and resting in your arms.