The Cliff Notes
An unassuming Saturday night on side streets off of Bedford.
First snow of the season surprising the previously warm autumn day.
Shopkeepers scrambling to bring clothes in from the street.
Five years of space closing in as we think we recognize each other through the racks.
Neon thrift shop finds replacing tiny black designer dresses.
The same grey slacks you used to wear to the studio.
Chunky blush platform boots replacing slinky stilettos.
The same scuffed black leather shoes with frayed laces.
High cheekbone hills replacing baby fat.
The same plastic surgeries in the same places.
Emerald sparkling eyeshadow replacing a smoky eye.
The same stoic eyes.
Bronzer giving more life where paleness used to live.
The same transparently pale skin.
Books by psychiatrists replacing magazines from the top shelf.
The same books by your same favorite director.
Black-rimmed cat-eye glasses replacing narrow red frames.
The same narrow Warby Parker tortoise shell glasses.
One who has changed with every season of the 20 spent apart,
One who has stubbornly clung to the way things always have been.
The same Armani cologne sprayed heavily on your Burberry scarf heavy in the air as we pass.
The new Chanel sprayed onto my rabbit fur scarf from the 60s reestablishing the space.