i always dreamed about this —
meeting you again
in our favorite bookstore
and buying our usual authors
and paper cuts on ****** novels
just like the old times,
before the words all
fell out of the books.

i always dreamed about this —
neck kisses and i love yous
in a yard we’d call our own,
while the playlists we made
echo from earphones
in the grass.

i always dreamed about this —
listening to you recite poems
under the sky and the meteor showers;
then again darling, every prose you say
is my spoken poetry —
is my love sonnet written
for matilde urrutia.

i always dreamed about this —
getting lost once more
in the space between your freckles
and in the outline of your lips
and in the scent of your cologne
mixed with the sunset petrichor.

i always dreamed about this —
about this very moment of seeing you again,
in mundane places
and maybe years later,
dreams could come true
somewhere in grocery aisles
and casual talks;
except in my dreams:

you’re not wearing a wedding band.
you’re not lost
in the way that he smiled.

in my dreams,
i’d be the one opening the doors
and carrying the grocery bags,
and you would not walk away
and leave so soon
while smiling back at him, darling
and while holding his hand.

in my dreams,
i’d still be the one saying i love you.
i love you.
i love you.

and you would still
say it back.