A long walk from your apartment, west and then back again. The sun is falling, taking the warmth out of the shadows, quickening your steps.

She holds your hand tightly, follows you over cobblestones and along winding walkways. She smiles at some small joke, then tightens her grip to remind you she’s still there. As you stop at a street corner, your silence is filled with thoughts about nothings and everythings.

The city watches, thunderous in its expansions. Gusts of wind carry siren songs and jackhammer echoes, as metal signs whine in rhythm and banners fray at their edges. Cars and crowds pulse through its arteries. 

But in a burst of sunlight, the city reminds you of its quiet erosions, its whispers from centuries past, the way the sunlight caresses its contours with the touch of long-known love. Some things do not wash away in floods of fancy. We can also build things with care, to last forever.

The light snaps green and you walk on, toward your home, where you will sleep and dream together.