You are a wild blur of my memory. Your tousled hair and little kid grin.

I was 18 and you had calloused hands and a soft voice.

One time in the middle of the night I made you laugh, you returned the favor. You were wearing a sweatshirt even though it was hot.

You took my hand and spun me around. We fell into each other and fit like puzzle pieces. Our legs tangle when we sit across from each other. You’ve pressed your palms against mine. You watch over me, your green eyes brushing mine.

I think we both imagined at that moment the way our lips would feel against each other’s, the way your arms would feel around my waist, and mine around yours.

I want to know you. I want to learn all of your little things.

Tell me about the day your grandpa died. Tell me the song that gives you goosebumps. Tell me about how you love pizza and hate spinach. Tell me how your heart beats faster when you hear my name. Tell me about every little part of you. Tell me the words you’re scared to say.

Tell me.

Tell me everything. Tell me you don’t want this to end.

Oh God- I’m exploding and this is a love letter I’ll never send…