So maybe when I looked at you, I knew you were genuine. I saw behind the fuzziness of the Saturday night drinks, the twinkle in your eye, the way both my friends and your friends pushed us towards one another as if that would somehow satisfy the longing in our hearts.
So maybe it was simple. No rules. No bullsh*t expectations. Just two people smiling underneath that Southern California moon, wanting nothing more than their hands intertwined with one another, their voices speaking promises they were almost ready to keep.
So maybe I was fearless. You looked at me across that crowded bar and I wasn’t wondering whether or not I should run. I was stepping towards you unconsciously. I was laughing. I was loving the way your lips formed hello and how my name sounded leaving your mouth.
So maybe it was easy. Falling into you. Staying up late and talking about dreams. Breathing in one another’s energy. Imagining a life that would extend far beyond that bar, that little ocean town, those four bedroom walls.
So maybe tomorrows became todays. And you left to chase dreams while I chased mine, leaving our phone calls to fill the emptiness. So maybe I listened to the sound of your voice, pictured the lines of your cheeks, the curve of your smirk.
So maybe I spent my nights crafting out what I would say, while 2,500 miles away you did the same.
So maybe we knew what we were getting into, and we chose it all the same.
So maybe you’re not here, but that doesn’t matter. Your lips are out of reach but I can still taste the longing in my chest.
So maybe this is hard, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because I know we both want this. Because I know I want you.
So maybe I close my eyes and you’re here. Breathing my air. Listening to the cars pass on this crowded street. Sipping this beer. Buying the next round, your arm loosely around me.
So maybe this isn’t what I pictured when I thought ‘love story.’ But this is ours, and damn, I hope we keep writing it.
So maybe I can’t hold you at night, you can’t kiss me when I’m falling into a bad dream. So maybe we’re going out with friends on opposite sides of the country, laughing at jokes, trying to pretend this is fine.
So maybe this is hard as hell. But we’re choosing it, we’re choosing each other.
So maybe tomorrow isn’t so far away, or the next time I see you, or the next after that. So maybe we have calendars and plans and ideas that fill pages.
So maybe it’s not as terrifying as we thought.
So maybe this is what it’s like to know something is real—because whatever’s in front of you no longer compares.