The time has come

The butterflies in my stomach came back. That cold in the belly that I thought I would never feel again. An absurd will to hear your voice, to always have you around. Who would say … Of so many lives out there, yours bump straight into mine. And I, who was saying to the four winds that I would not fall in love anymore, I’m already thinking about the name of our first kid. I’m already making plans for our summer trip. I’m already wishing for your kiss the first minute of the new year. And I, who have been running from so many relationships, hurting people around. I have become cold and disbelieving of love, I am already imagining our son running around at the end of another day in school. Imagining it with your eyes, your nose, and my smile when I see you. It’s … I really think it’s time. I’m trading the bar with friends over Netflix on the living room sofa. To swap the PS4 for the towel stretched out in the sand. I’m trying to pass this little bit of life by your side. I swear I can see you some time, I write a poem in the room as you shop online. I fall more and more in love with your accent and you implying even more with mine. I was thinking here … I think it will look pretty beautiful our wedding invitation with the letters “L” and “H” in gold on the cover. Really, I hope it’s always like this. We fit in with our differences and life gets more colors. I do not know what you saw in me, but I hope you continue to see for a long time. After so many beaches and so many waves. After all I’ve lived here, I swear I did not believe it anymore. Until I saw you smiling for the first time.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.