i always dreamed about this — meeting you again in our favorite bookstore and buying our usual authors and getting paper cuts from ****** 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 left lying 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 early morning petrichor.
i always dreamed about this — about this very moment of seeing you again, in mundane places and maybe years later, dreams can 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'll be the one opening the doors and carrying the grocery bags, and you'll not walk away and leave so soon while smiling back at him, darling and while holding his hand.
in my dreams, i'll still be the one saying i love you. i love you. i love you.