We met at the cafe by your house.
God,
it had been so long
since my eyes last had the pleasure
of seeing you
face to face.
We ordered our drinks
and sat in the corner,
undisturbed by the rest of the world.
You asked me how I had been
during our brief interlude
of time and space.
My heart was screaming to tell you
just how in love with you
I still was.
How every day and night
and been filled with nothing
but breaths taken for you,
wondering when we could speak again.
But I lied.
I told you I was fine.
You told me about what you had been up to,
and I am not sure if there is a word
for loving the way a persons lips form words,
but there I was
falling in love with you
all over again.
We went back to your place
and took pictures of the moon,
and talked about us.
Polar opposites,
you and I.
You, Aries
and I, Libra.
Yet somehow,
someway,
the attraction between us rivaled that
of the Earth and the moon.
You would look down and smile to yourself
when we locked eyes.
You knew you still had me,
but darling,
I still had you, too.
We always looked at each other
a little too long
for just friends.
When I left, I held you
in my arms
for as long as I could,
the smell of your hair
reaching and taking root
deep in my lungs.
The familiar feel of your hands
reaching around me
and pulling me close
made me forget the distance
that lay between us,
and when you looked into my eyes,
I saw us,
60 years from now
on the porch of your aunt’s house
that you always said you’d buy someday,
with our grand-kids running around the yard.
A quiet
summer breeze
wafting the smell of your hair back into my lungs.
It’s you.
It has always been you.

And I think it always will be.

~LT