Dear Forever

A foreward of sorts:

"When a writer meets you, we take note of all that you are until we are fluent in you. 

We study & quantify your dimensions so each creation drips of your essence." -D xx

Dear Forever

You don’t know me, or maybe you do, but one day I’ll be curled into the sweep of your arm, where you’re still damp with my sweat and yours. It will be the artist’s golden hour, well past lunch. We’ll order room service and not care if it comes.

I’ll slide my index finger, tracing swirls on your chest and arms while asking questions. Deep, probing questions to learn every piece of you so that I may be peace for you. You’ll answer to my forehead while your finger draws shapes on me too. You’ll trace in cursive down my stomach, stopping at a surgical scar. I’ll tell you it’s a survivor's badge, but I still don't like it.

I’ll ask you what your past has taught you. You’ll inform me of the people who hurt you, and/or the people you’ve hurt. I’ll remind you that we’re human and our past is just that. 

We’ll tell each other things we haven’t thought of in years, feeling safe in each other's energy. Our dreams, hopes, fears, and what we live for. I'll tell you about my lingering fear of abandonment, the remnants of a father wound. I'll explain how it never truly goes away, but I am no longer a slave to it. 

You don’t know me, or maybe you do, but one day my hand will fit perfectly in yours. I’ll memorize your fingertips. Every line and every detail -- that's how hard I love. I'll tell you how you make me feel expansive like five galaxies swirling in Stephan's Quintet. 

You'll listen as I confess that you’re unlike anything I’m used to. And if I ever say I love you, then I love you. You’ll shift your body to face me. Those damn eyes locked on mine as I hold my breath, then slowly exhale as you press your palm deeper into mine, daring me to ever let you go.