Meet him inside of a hurricane.
Not a literal one, but the kind of event that changes you.
The kind of thing that shapes how you think,
how you feel, how you look at the world.
Kiss him for the first time and gasp for air
like you’ve just popped your head out of the pool.
Silently wonder if this is the first time you’ve ever breathed.
If everything before has been practice.
Listen to Bright Eyes like a damn cliché
and understand exactly what the song means.
Decide this is the first day of your life.
Decide you want to live it again and again.
When it starts getting cold outside,
wrap yourself up in a silk cocoon together.
Talk about conspiracy theories and family vacations.
Press his hand to your beating chest
and watch it shake your entire foundation.
Watch it strip away everything you naively thought you knew.
Touch every freckle on his body and shiver each time.
Think of connecting the dots and seeing if it spells out your fate. See if it spells forever. Hope that it does.
Tell everyone you know how much you hate the term making love,
but finally get what it means.
Touch each other at the drive-in theater
like lovestruck kids stuck in the 50s.
Buy popcorn and take turns tossing it into each other’s mouths.
Go to a large oak tree to carve your names with a giant heart,
but change your mind last minute because you’re afraid it hurts the tree.
Take a nap underneath it together instead.
Wake up and tell each other every detail of your dreams.
Run around every city you can think of.
Watch him make fun of hipsters,
then make fun of him because he sort of is one.
Let him control the radio even though
you have a compulsive need to be the DJ.
Listen to his songs and find what he likes about them.
Listen to them when you’re alone.
Listen to them when you miss him.
Listen to them when he is far away
and you cannot reach his lips through a telephone.
Cry when you see him really hurting.
Cry when you know that, despite your love, you cannot take it away. You cannot be a savior.
But you can stand by.
You can be a pillar when he thinks there is no place to lean.
Tell him he has a piece of you
and you’re not sure how it happened,
but you’re so glad it did.
Fall asleep on his chest and fear you will love him always.
That life and death mean very little.
That love is stronger than forces anyone can understand.
You, or me, or him.
Wake up every few hours to see if he’s still breathing.
It has been years and I still wake up
to check if he’s still breathing.
My love, are you still breathing?
Are you still with me?