The stories we won’t live cos of how much of a dork I am

 I saw us dancing. I saw a living room that felt home. Even if I hadn’t been there before I could recognize the furniture, the colors felt like we chose them, and so did the music, so did the vinyl distortion bubbles summoning songs I’ve never heard, but felt like comfy to me. You were all wet from the poring rain and the oven heated a favorite food I never got to ask, but somehow I know that was what smelled in there.


And I’ve inspected the shelves of your childhood bedroom, just to happen to confirm I read the same books, that we dreamt of the same stories, self educated ourselves in the same heros, teenage romances, and Disney characters… I’ve walked my sight on every ornament and wondered the story behind them, but chilled knowing there’s all the time in the world to know.


We’ve arrived home in a long night roadtrip and I’ve carried you in arms. I’ve read out loud for you, you’ve read out to sleep. We’ve reminded each other we wanted to stay even if we fought. We’ve been in museums, theaters, concerts, you’ve been at my parents without me. Discovered every new era in livehood together, holding hands through the fear of uncertainty, celebrated every small victory, hugged every mistake, and above all, talked through every idea. I’ve gone silent hearing you, lost track of speech just wondering how life can create such creature. I even once saw you talk English to a little version of yourself. Didn’t have your eyes though.


We both deserved. 

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