I would like to think that we are the bridge from winter to spring.

I am 12:57pm, and you are the breeze kissing color into my cheeks. I love you the way the a flower blooms through all the white coldness surrounding it, the sun encouraging it's every small stretch.

I love you in the same sense as the new rains washing away the dirtiness of my hair and the muck in the streets: we are two parts of one whole, and yet you are still so foreign.

I know you love me by the way you kiss me in morse code. You leave your fingerprints on my hips: an invisible promise that I am yours.

Your name is tattooed on the tip of my tongue.

I wish us well.