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on new years eve we wanted to walk alone together down to the very edge of the wingdam. we stumbled along the familiar path, made treacherous and muddy with the past days rain and melted snow. i reached my hand around and placed it in his jacket pocket, turning my head into into his shoulder to smell the leather's soft living scent. shining light-filled glimpses of the river greeted us through the trees, looming and black with darkness.

we gingerly stepped on the rocks that made steps down the worn dusty precipice that would take us to the foot of the dam. he put his hands on my hips. the water was high and loud, full from the rains; its curved shape was half submerged in water, but visible. we picked our way over the old fallen logs and the new debris of the minor flood, dancing around the puddles and tiny streams that glanced up and over the concrete.

then the flow was not a tiny stream, but a long shining stretch overrun with water. he turned to me and said, "want to go back?" i sloshed through the river in response, the cold flowing over my feet and soaking into my sneakers and up my pant legs like air, like waking up suddenly in the morning.

we found a dry island of the dam and sat, in the middle of a renegade river, and held hands on new years eve.

the spot where we'd first kissed, almost a year ago, was submerged under the water, undetectable and quietly baptised.

it was as if it was never there.