Someday I Will Love You So, So Much

Chiara Cremaschi
Chiara Cremaschi

I think about you more often than sometimes, wherever and whoever you are.

See there are glimpses in life the hold the type of stillness that make people want to fall in love. These are little moments, modest and fleeting. I hope you will believe that this is where I find you, buried deep within my senses, likely years before we have met.

It is in the warmth of cupped palms and tingling ivy fingertips, draped around steaming tea in the morning. Curled up in a blanketed cocoon on my seat by the window, it is in my eyes filled to the brim with a sleepy kind of imagination. It’s tucked into a safe haven, a bomb shelter from the day’s responsibilities that nip at the corners of my mind. It is comfortable and peaceful.

This is how I think you will feel.

It is somewhere in between my third and fourth glass of shiraz. My lips are stained with two shades of red and my tongue is familiar with- but never bored of the taste. My mind buzzes and there’s a sudden shift in how my blood pumps. It’s intoxicating and mesmerizing, like a miracle meeting a tragedy.

This is how I imagine you will taste.

It’s in the scent of salt that clings proudly to the breeze of a shoreline. It smells like wild feet on hot sand and smoky bonfires at dusk. It smells like warm rum tucked in water bottles we will hide from the police and double-dare all-in skinny dipping at when the sun falls. It’s the faint smell of seaweed and sunlight, triggering memories from when I was a child. I see film reels of seaside vacations, when laughter was the only language spilling from my naïve mouth. I spend a moment wishing I knew you then, that I could have found you sooner. I spend another wishing I knew you now, I imagine you would love this kind of place. It smells something like freedom, restlessly liberating.

This I where I recognize the scent you will carry.

I start to love the idea of you in these quiet moments. But there are also brands of loudness that bring me to you, ones that demand to be felt.

It is in the bridge of the opening set, building acoustics echoing from four walls. It’s buried deep in the steady pound of the drum synchronizing with my heartbeat. It’s in the resonating chorus, speakers blaring and bodies jumping mindlessly. It’s the anticipating cheers of a crowd, united in the faintest form of purpose. It’s in the lyric that hits home, the words you want so desperately to shout from storybook rooftops.

I hear pieces of you there.

I don’t think of you always, but I see you just about everywhere.

I see what I think we will be splattered across café walls; I see us in the old couple sipping coffee in the corner. I see us in postcards tacked temporarily onto corkboards, in dots on roadmaps and in photos of strange cities. I see you through frosty windows of late December drives, hunting endlessly to catch glimpses of Christmas lights. I see you in the stars when I’m walking home alone, when it starts to snow and everything just kind of subsides. I see you across the counter laughing as I spiral-dancing around the kitchen, and I see you in the hypnotizing headlights on drowsy drives home. I meet your warm gaze in strangers on buses and in bar booths.

I see you in all of the people I have loved before you — in bits of their kindness, their regret, their glimmers of silent forgiveness. I see parts of you in myself, in my own insecurities- things one day I hope you will love.

These are the places I see you.

You are in all of my senses, in unexpected moments.

I feel your warmth in my morning coffee and I taste your sweetness in my evening wine. I smell your freedom by crashing waves of the ocean and I hear your soul through the lyrics of my favourite song. I see you in my dreams, in the places I let my mind wander.

I do not love you yet, nor do you love me- but when I do I want you to know that you have been entwined in my life. It will have been you that I have waited for. But please don’t rush, I think we both have a few more things to explore- a few wandering eyes to get lost in before we find each others. Until then, I will miss the idea of you as much as it is possible to miss someone you haven’t met yet, and I hope that within the cracks of your smallest moments, you are missing the idea of me too. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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