Three hundred and forty steps—
    not that I counted,
    not at first.

But something about the night,
    about the way our feet fell
    in perfect rhythm,

    made each one feel deliberate.

Irby’s behind us,
    but it wasn't all laughter.

The words I shouldn’t have said,
    the ones I tried to twist into reason,
    still hung in the air,

    like smoke that refused to fade.

Apologies fell short,
    feckless and hollow,
    no match for the weight

    of my own missteps.

Yet, somehow,
    your hand found mine,
    and the world didn’t end.

Hand in hand,
    the perfect height,
    the perfect fit—

    like something the world aligned just so.

The city hummed,
    a quiet backdrop to something simpler:

    just two souls walking,
        matching steps,
            finding cadence in each other.

Three hundred and forty steps,
       and not one was wasted.

Each one carried something—
    a glance,
    a touch,

    a silent forgiveness that didn’t need words.

By the time the hotel door closed,
           we had already arrived.