When I think of you, I think of time.
I think of the privilege of watching each and every line,
Deepen on your face.

How like rivers they’ll weave and dip,
Bending and stretching as the curve of your hip,
Stories told as we’ve grown old.

When I think of you, I think of flowers.
I think of all of the blessed hours I have spent in your presence,
What a gift!

I see fields teeming with lavender and rose,
Fireworking nature, in all of her prose,
Mother Earth describes you better than I even know.

When I think of you, I feel effervescent of limb,
Like I might float away, on a whim,
And land just outside your door.

When you’re near, my heart thrums,
My foolish body goes nearly numb,
And I’m not quite certain what my brain becomes.

When I think of you, I am elated,
No, more than that, though no word really conveys it,
Suffice it to say:
I am hopelessly, splendidly, dreadfully in love.

When you leave me, I think of small things.
How long the towel you used will stay on the rack.
How long my pillow will smell like you.
How long I’ll keep finding your hair in my shower.
How long my bedsheets will stay the way you made them.

When I leave you, I think of little things.
How long it will take my toothbrush to dry next to yours.
How long the silverware I used will sit in the drying rack.
How long the loaf of bread I ate from will remain in your cupboard.

When we leave each other, I think of tiny things.
How long our swapped sweatshirts will go without washing.
How long your fingerprints will stay on my counters.
How long my boba cup will stay in your recycling bin.
How long it’ll be until someone else is the passenger in my car.
How long until we see each other next.

Because I cannot tell you I’m falling in love with you yet, I tell you when I kiss you, in those moments when I try so hard to yell, scream it into your awareness with the gentle touch that only holistic connection can bring.
When you smile at me, I am young again, it is Christmas, there are gifts under the tree and an untouched blanket of snow on the ground.
You smell like home even though I have never known your scent before, yet when I hold you it is a warm blanket in a pine-scented cabin well worn with age, the fire is crackling, and we are sitting on the  leather couch which is much too old, splintering seams and cracked brown cushions.
When I am near you, I hear but one refrain, that I am falling in love with you, so wholly and completely, in the way the color of your eyes so gently touches the color of your skin, the way that your freckles cannot be compared to stars— that is too common a likening, but rather to each instance which has made me rush deeper and deeper into you… beautiful, effortless you.
The way you speak entrances me, how you pronounce your “s”s and your “rums” (rooms) and your laugh, the kind of head-thrown-back, teeth out belly laugh that people try so hard to emulate, that is ascribed to the most lovable storybook characters, but which I have learned is a hallmark of your effervescent, overflowing joy.
When I am with you, I am so present it hurts, yet I am safe, I am understood, I am seen in ways that only a coveted few experience in their lives.
I am falling in love with you, for you are Christmas and pine trees and laughter, you are staying up too late and stargazing and adventure, you are creek water that is far too cold but far more refreshing, you are holding hands in the sweltering heat and wearing white shoes on muddy hikes, you are astonishing. And I hope desperately that you know it.

As the seasons change, I realize there’s no one I’d rather weather the weather with than you.
In six months, the sun has sung the green leaves of the poplar trees red with delight and the autumn rays are finally solid enough for me to hang my coat upon.
You are the first crisp air I breathed in the summer and the last warm blanket I’ll clutch in the fall.
In six months, the chime has tolled last year gone and this year new and the streets which were briefly ours are now everyone’s.
You are frozen smoothie bowls and salty New England air.
In sixth months, I have made my peace with twenty-one and, as she waits excitedly, you are crossing the threshold to meet her.
You are a fallen tree over a creek, perfect for two “friends”, and a soft-clanging bell delivering her soliloquy to the listening sea.
In sixth months, the Earth has travelled two hundred and ninety-two million miles to spend each morning and each night lain next to the sun while I have travelled two thousand and ninety-two miles to be lain next to you.
You are a boot-tappin’ Appalachian folk song and that first triumphant forkful of Trader Joe’s gluten-free pumpkin bread.
And as the seasons change, I realize there’s no one I’d rather be here with than you.

as i delete you from my camera roll
i remember something my father said
"perhaps time is like the pages of a book"
pressed together so delicately
what really separates today from yesterday
this year from the next?

as i reread our story from its ending
i remember your favorite movie
the protagonist can time travel
undo his past mistakes so easily
what really stains the past
rends memory to turmoil?

as i wipe the memories from my face
i remember my favorite movie
it's about time
the father sacrifices his daughter for the universe
or was it really himself?

i watch as we grow happier, closer, while knowing each other less and less.

i hope somewhere, i am opening a door for you and welcoming you into my home.

I awoke one morning
To find eternity stretched before me,
Forever and ever, there before my eyes.

She likes to wear secondhand t-shirts.

I awoke one afternoon
To find the universe yawning wide open,
Stars and cities and teeming with life.

She likes to sleep beneath a weighted blanket.

I awoke one evening
To find Heaven curled up beside me,
Living and breathing and marvelously existing.

She likes to eat hummus.