I imagine that the next time I fall in love, it will be a quiet moment. A whisper in the wind. A slight touch of a raindrop. A brief fluttering of leaves. A ghost of a smile. Retrospectively, it will be a momentous event, but in the present, at that poignant point in time, it’s the coffee-ringed stains on your bedside table. The sliver of light peeking between your curtains. The lingering air in your room. The pauses in between breaths. It’ll be so small and seemingly so unimportant, barely noticeable, but it’ll be so much more. I imagine that the next time I fall in love, I wouldn’t know because there’s no thundering heartbeat or a roller coaster of butterflies in my stomach or deafening thoughts in my head or any other cliches associated with the idea of falling in love. Maybe I’ll realize it when your thumb dances across my left palm and I find myself asking why your skin feels so much warmer than mine. Maybe I’ll figure it out when you call me at 2 am just to talk and I roll my eyes when I see your name lighting up my phone but still ask you “are you okay?” Maybe I’ll know it when you make fun of me and I hit you on the arm. Maybe I’ll finally understand it when you rest your head on my shoulder and I find myself being captivated by the flutter of your eyelashes against your cheekbones. Maybe it’ll be the softness of it. The brevity of it. The calming effect of it. Maybe it’ll be the tenderness of your eyelashes that will make me realize the tenderness of my heart when it comes to you. I imagine that the next time I fall in love, it will be something that will integrate in my life and evolve without my knowledge. It will blossom each day quietly. Slowly. Without hesitance. With the strength of a lightning but the grace of a drizzle. It won’t come as a big surprise, not an “oh” moment, but more of a peaceful and soft “yes.”

I’d like to pour parts of my soul into your body and you could pour some of yours into mine. Who knows, maybe mine will fill the gaps, the crooks and crannies, the in-betweens, and the white spaces. I’d like to entangle mine with yours and maybe they’ll feel the absence of what was once missing. Maybe the pang of lost will dissipate and our souls will touch the presence of what can be something great.