to prove it happened

someday when we are 
dead bones
broken myths
all gone
will there be anything left
to prove that we used to 
meet after work and read the paper aloud
to each other
drinking ales in black leather booths
studying each other
walking rainy streets home
like children with sweets
faces wet slick smiling
our strong legs walking the path 
towards the squeaky staircase
to the home where we lived
where we practiced breathing
heart beating
love diving
where we whispered our stories
across our bodies
across the universe
across the fast moving sky