New Year 2030, When We Dance

She stops for a moment to feel the heat from the fireplace on her legs and hands.

Winter time took such a toll on her so many years ago.

The cold wind dried her skin and added years to her life.

She looks down at her hands, at her forearms, at scars that will never fade.

Constant reminders of pure nothingness.

Empty years of pain.

There were many times, though, simple things brought simple pleasures.

You almost felt as if you were waiting in vain for them to catch up with you.

The warmth makes her smile.

She is hanging the last bit of celebration decorations on the fireplace mantle.

Coming down from the step stool, she glances around the living room and double checks the work she just finished.

Her eyes falling on the last glittered sign above her head, "Happy New Year 2030" it read, in all it's purple glittered glory.

The Christmas lights twinkled and ran as they cascaded over the large living room window.

The Christmas tree stood tall in the corner of the room decorated with mixed up ornaments of Christmas's past.

She folded up the step stool and placed it in the hall closet.

She heard him humming to the music playing on the bedroom stereo.

He was a getting dressed.

She paused for a moment to take him in.

They rode hard together, been to hell and back.

Ride or die they always said.

Best of friends, husband and wife.

Together for life.

"You're beautiful," she told him.

"So are you," he said walking over to her.

He cupped her face and kissed her gently on the lips.

"The ham smells delicious baby," she told him.

He smiled and made his way to the kitchen.

The doorbell rang and the first of their guests arrived.

Kisses and hugs at the door, his cousin bounced in bringing even more life to the beautifully decorated room.

Other guests followed and soon the dining room table was filled with laughter and conversation.

There was talk of vacations spent lakeside, new cars, grandchildren.

And the conversation stopped abruptly.

He was giving a toast.

He welcomed his friends and family, welcomed yet another year.

He thanked his God, his wife, his lucky stars for this second chance at life.

He explained how he thought there was no return from where he's been.

He talks about finding patience when all else was gone.

He told everyone there to stay true to their commitments and not to ever stop trying no matter how hard things become.

She started where he left off.

She talked about the cold, the dark.

She talked about being hungry, living without power and water.

She tells of the smells that you could never get used to, nor ever forget.

How they crawled up into your nostrils and buried their heads into your flesh.

And hours later, the thought alone of where you were, what you had to do to survive, would bring the smells back.

Rot, decay, dirt.

Half eaten apples fermented in heated plastics, wet cigarette butts, old beer cans, someone's spit, soiled clothing, rotten meat, and so many empty bottles of water.

Putrid smells you don't forget.

A hard side of life; homeless street life.

She explained the summer wasn't as uncomfortable as the winter but there is a point of being too hot or too cold.

She looks around at the guests that have come to celebrate in their home and thanks them individually, without most of them they may have never survived it.

She stands up to take her place next to her husband and he embraced her.

She whispered in his ear that she loved him, that she will never stop trying.

They kissed under the mistletoe and lead the group into the living room.

Like poetry in motion, they danced under the twinkling lights, in their living room, under their roof, in their big beautiful home.