If I could meet you again for the first time,
I would.
10 times over
And every time,
I would choose you.

If we met at the park,
it would be autumn.
We would see each other there everyday, walking alone,
and one day,
we would look up,
a little nervous,
and say, hey there,
and then, some how, we would end up walking together
hardly saying a word,
as if we had known each other our entire lives.

If we met at work,
I would say hi,
and you would ask, how are you,
and that would be all.
Until one day you would offer to carry my bag and walk me to my car,
and I would unlock the door to get in,
but it would hang there open, long after I planned to leave.

If we met at in line at the book store,
I would ask you what you were buying,
and you would launch into a story, describing the movie or book or whatever you held in your hands,
and as you explained,
your eyes would get really big and your hands would move all around, trying to describe how much you love it.

If we met as kids,
we would race up the slide,
and play tag,
and I would pretend I didn't like to be caught,
but secretly I did,
and we would hide in the wooden castle,
and make up stories,
and miss each other after we went home.

If we met in class,
we would sit next to each other the first day by accident,
but we would become friends.
You would be early everyday and save my seat,
and I would come just in time,
and when I got sick, you would give me your notes,
and when the other wasn't there, the empty chair beside us would swallow the whole room.

If we met when we're old,
I would see you greet the receptionist in the doctor's office,
and watch you laugh about something she said and thank her, your eyes sparkling and kind.
And, at 70, I wouldn't care about subtlety anymore,
so I would go sit down next to you and ask why you aren't married
and you would say, because I've been waiting for you.