I don’t know if there’s a word for this

this might not happen again

this happy pocket of joy and laughter

where you and I and our kids are free to be ourselves

to dance in the kitchen

to hold hands in public without fear looming in our periphery

this might be it

this might be all we get

I’m slicing Parmesan cheese in my freedoms this afternoon making a mental note that if everything charges down the path we fear

that was the last moment

I was free in the kitchen

slicing Parmesan cheese.

I don’t know if there’s a word for this, a sort of “pre nostalgia”

a knowing there may come a time when I look back on my present moment with longing

a time I’m still living

a time I could still be in my skin

I don’t know if there’s a word for this

I am walking in the first snow of the season

and I’m somewhere in the future looking back with fondness at each step I’m free to take in my right now

I’m somewhere in the uncertain future and I’m gazing back at us

knowing we have no idea what might happen

envious of our happy ignorance

your hand in mine

our lips against each other

the sun glowing golden through our kitchen window

casting our serenity in amber light

I don’t know if there’s a word for this

but I need one so I can remember.