someday I will strip my coat and gloves, pull the pins from my hair, lay my troubles at the foot of the bed, and crawl into the sheets next to you. i’ll burrow into your chest and whine about shitty coworkers and deadlines, all within twenty minutes of leaving the office.
someday we will revel in buying things we never thought we’d need at fancy stores we’d never thought we’d be able to afford. like bamboo placemats and napkin holders and silverware to set once a year, to fill the cabinet in the dining room we never quite knew how to use.
someday we’ll hold hands for the very last time as a you & me, before we become a licensed we. and we’ll laugh because even though we’ve changed in so many ways over the years, our fingers still fit as perfectly as they did on that pretty June day downtown when you were so nervous I could feel it in waves even though I hadn’t felt a thing in over eight years.
someday we’ll spend the whole day in the bathroom our bodies intertwined on the cold tile floor taking turns as we lay within the throes of life’s most unforgiving moments but at least we have each other to be miserable beside because that indian food was totally worth it.
someday we might welcome another all tiny fingers and toes and impossibly small sweaters and the baby kisses we jokingly give will become a reality by tiny little lips made into perfect little o’s so sweet and innocently perched upon our cheeks before they bend into sleepy, drooly mush only to strike again in six to eight hours.
someday we’ll cry snot and tears and violent gasps of pain when the people who brought us here kiss the earth one last time. and when we spend way too much money on a suit you’ll never wear again, you mention that maybe this week black isn’t your favorite color anymore. and until that moment I won’t realize just how much you are hurting, because half-assed humor is your way of saying “I am very much not okay right now.”
someday we’ll look at each other and wonder how so much time has passed so many birthday parties and dance recitals so many dinners cooked while dancing in the kitchen so many disappointing days and petty fights so much life lived inside the walls of our first home so many bones brittled and coffee cups broken so many days spent with so much love between our souls. and somehow it’ll still feel like only an hour has passed since I changed my outfit six times, opened the heavy door outside my first apartment, and hopped off the steps into your arms.