To my future lover,
You know I hate this phrase, but “I told you so.”
You will brush my warnings off like bread crumbs.
You will forget that I explained every pothole and sinking sandpit to you.
You find the hair the shower drain and remember.
You see the middle-squeezed toothpaste tube and remember.
You search for the television remote and remember.
Remember.
That I am just as wild as my hair.
That I tell you that you are wrong even when you aren’t.
That sometimes I have a hard time saying “Good morning.”
That sometimes I have a hard time saying “I am sorry.”
That sometimes I have a hard time saying “Good night.”
That I have an eternally stubbed toe from tripping on my own feet, shoes, and tongue.
That I play too much.
That I cry too much.
That I am too much and too little, but that makes me just enough.
That I love you and will love you even when it gets hard.
Like burnt waffles and diamonds and your will and my skull.
If you misplace your memory daily,
I will remind you with my whispered words in your ear, with my gentle finger tips, with my soul bare before you.