Imagine seeing me one day after 15 years of not talking to each other. It will be on a local coffee shop where they have the best matcha drink one can ever dream of. You are sitting on the farthest end of the room, with an art book in hand; earphones blasting indie electronic songs you have been listening to u purposely use earphones to let people leave you alone. You dive in the world of art. Breathing heavily, you gasp for some air. You lift your head up to take a sip of your drink, and right when you’re ready to read again, you get distracted of a familiar voice.
I’ll be wearing jeans and my favorite A Rocket to the Moon shirt I got from their last concert. Earphones blasting their songs. A book in my hand, a pen and some paper. You smile upon hearing I got the same drink as you, watch me sat down on the corner, immediately opening my book (carefully).
You will watch me for some time and realize it’s just creepy so you gather up all your things and your courage, come up to me and say hi. But you stop and settle in the table next to me. I see you and tears water my eyes. You choke on your bagel. I stand up, sit next to you and say hi. You see the book I’m reading. It’s your favorite Dr. Seuss book. You will give me a look and I’ll start laughing. I will try to stop to tell you “I told you I read one page everyday.”
After that conversation, we will stay in touch. Not just in words but with actions. We will rekindle the love I believe never died. It will be a rocky adventure, but we will make it. We will go on roadtrips, blasting old Passion Pit songs. We will fulfil every promise we made when we were still in college. We will visit every island there is to explore. We will travel. Together. We will grow.
One day, I will wake up with the smell of pancakes you’re cooking for me. I will eagerly get up, shower you with kisses before I brush my teeth, and ask you if we have orange juice for breakfast. You will laugh (oh, that heavenly sound) and kiss me, saying, “You never liked orange juice. That is not welcome in our home.” I will pull you close and tell you, “You called it home, not house. That’s something.”
Soon enough, I will see you with our four-year-old wearing a unicorn onesie like yours, reading to her the Dr. Seuss book you gave me when we started our pause. You will fall asleep faster than she does, she will try to wake you up, I will stop her. I will tuck her in and carry you back to our room. I will watch you, and try to wake you. You will snore for a second, pull me in and tell me it’s time for bed.
I will whisper words before cuddling you to sleep again: “It was a rocky start, love, but I want to believe that it will get better. I’m going to make sure I’ll still be there to see it. I actually am seeing it now. If one draws attention to our cracks, they will just see colors that glued this wonderful piece together. We started with hickeys and matching shirts, let us end up with a shared surname. Can I just end with this note: Loving you feels very close to flying. Tomorrow I will ask you to marry me, I hope you say you will.”
We're on pause but for now, let us fast forward. (Love your word play, self.)