You stood facing me, holding out your trembling hands, palms against the infinite sky that’s wrapping our existence and you said to me with that harboring voice of yours “here, I’m giving you the world”
I smiled and closed your palms, giving you a head start to the punch that will shatter my ribcage and go through my lungs and I told you that the world is made of atoms and cells and energy and galaxies and birds and stars and clouds. It holds eight Earths and twelve thousand oceans, a trillion molecule of oxygen and quadruples that for ants.
I slid my fingers inside your chocked up hand and whispered that the world you’re giving me is not the world I want. This here is what I want.
I want sunlight on the bed sheets that cover our cold feet.
I want the arm hair that rises every time I touch your face to trace your freckles.
I want coffee breaks in the locker rooms of your company.
I want yellow curtains with flower patterns in our kitchen.
I want nights with our fingers always intertwined even when our bodies are apart.
I want time that never stops but lasts forever.
I want subtle looks and still moments in the midst of the crowd.
I want my heart to expand with the overwhelming joy I feel to just be in your presence.
I took your hand and placed it on my heart so you could feel the pulsing veins bursting with the rush of the long wait and I heard myself utter: “I want you. And only you.”