Spring sunlight lands on them precisely, like the light and shade of those Impressionist paintings you loved.
And I came to love them.
Here the teenager lifts her phone to capture a perfect kiss, and the two young men swift-kiss goodbye, and the mother with her baby dips her lips to its downy head, watches the ducks kiss, beak-to-beak, and the middle-aged couple, looped together, know only the movements of their lips and hands –
and I miss you.
And I move my lips to my hand, let them land: warm and precise like sunlight.