And maybe we’ll meet again someday. Tomorrow or a few years from now. Just the thought of meeting on another cold November afternoon conjuring thoughts of what the other might be thinking or thinking if that other is thinking what you’re thinking of brings me back again to a moment, a moment where all I ever wanted to do was just bask in the essence once more. The essence in which our heads were lifted into the clouds and our hearts planted deep into the ground to grow and shoot towards the sky in hopes that someday our thoughts and wherever our heart may lead us will meet. Maybe someday.

The memory of her fingertips

Traced love notes on the back of my neck

and played notes into a symphony 

Roaring from an orchestra 

Her words came in these subtle moments of

Touch

Like from her palm upon my shoulder

and the way the surface of her lower lip

Lightly grazed my ear

Just to remind me

How much she was only

A memory.

Crazy how the lyrics of a miscellaneous song can remind you of one specific person. Funny how it reminds you of the one that changed your life quite significantly.

When we were standing there

Stealing glances at each other

I had this overwhelming surge of complacency

As if this were the way it had meant to be all along

But where are we?

We are flailing.

Tumbling down at free fall 

From different sides of this world

As our lips meet at the center

of the earth’s core -

You are here.

Here, with me.

And I deeply want to believe that if shooting stars are capsuled wishes frolicking across the clouds - I would wish I could save them for moments when the sun loses her shine and wish that time could grow on vines just so I could pick their leaves and give them to my grandmother on her a hundreth and eleventh birthday…