I want to introduce you to my parents. I want to take black and white polaroids of your hands and hang them on my bedroom walls so when you leave me for a funnier, slimmer, better version of me I can remember a time when those hands brought out the best parts of my worst. I want to kiss you, hard. On the mouth. Soft, on your nose. Violently, passionately, like a hurricane I want to leave marks to remind you I was here. I want to tell you about my day. How many coffees I drank, how many cigarettes I tried to leave unlit, the way I forgot to think about anything else but your laugh. I want to make you eggs in the morning and listen to that ****** indie music we love (If you don’t like eggs I’ll make you stacks of chocolate chip pancakes and you can be reading if you don’t like music in the morning.) I hope we run into each other at a coffee shop, at the library, on the street and shyly smile, knowing this is it.