It didn't begin like it was intended to be written longer—
I had thought maybe you were just another story when I ran out of things to say when I'm out drinking with friends, another unfinished sentence with no meaningful content, maybe a blurry image of an unlikely encounter, you know how it goes, we'll spill secrets then pretend we don't know each other the next day and it wouldn't even hurt. There were no fireworks, no warning signs, no pacing heartbeats, just you and I on that lazy August afternoon, talking. And yet, when I said goodbye, you said goodnight, and when I expected nothing of you, you woke up the next morning with me in mind. Days had turned into weeks turned into months, and it was so easy. Talking to you has been so easy. There were no pretense, no hurry, and no longer did any of us utter goodbyes.
There's so much glittering potential—you, me, and the notion of us being something greater.
In an alternative universe, you're probably getting more sleep and I'm probably out of school or you probably remember to jog in the morning and maybe I still don't drink black coffee, and it's nice to fantasize of how we would've met no matter what, maybe in a different scenario, maybe as adults in the same workplace or we happen to be at the same café one fateful night.
Or maybe we only have this chance to get it right.
But regardless of the other infinities in this endless realm of possibilities, I’m just glad this reality exists and it’s ours. That against all odds, we’ve managed to find each other. I am with you, and we are in each other’s lives, prominently, lovingly.
You and I are meant to be in this moment together.
—L.m.,
I'm no longer asking myself if it's love, I already know.