when you find an old picture of us
and you clear away the dust
I heard you sing to the birds today. You met me at our usual spot, and you were singing such a beautiful song. It sounded like a lullaby. Did your parents use to sing that to you before you fell asleep? The words are very soft, but they hold a deeper meaning. All lullabies do. Did you notice that?
You met my eyes and stopped singing.
And you smiled.
I think my heart stopped.
I forgot how to breathe.
You had the cutest smile.
You told me, finally, that your mother used to sing that song to you. And that you used to sing that same song to your younger sister. You told me she had horrible nightmares growing up, and she would only fall asleep when that song was sung to her.
I asked you why your mother didn't sing that song to her. I knew the answer. Your eyes told me all I needed to know.
They held profound depths of misery.
They looked a lot like mine.
Do you feel the same things I'm feeling? Have you felt the same things I've felt?
You ignite so many questions in my mind. I want to know so much about you. I want to know every aspect of you. Every tiny shred you keep locked to yourself.
I asked about your family.
You told me about your mother, who was kind in everything she did. You told me that she was the one who taught you how to read and write, who told you about the hidden parts of life. Who told you about the wonders of the world and all its little secrets.
You told me about your father, who held an anger that all fathers did. You said he was a nice man, but he was never around. He was a doctor, and you wanted to follow in his footsteps. He saved people; you said you wanted to do the same thing.
You told me about your sister, who was as pure as the angels above. You sat on the bench and raved about her the most. You care for her greatly— I can see it in your smile. Your lips curve upwards and threaten to tear your cheeks. Your eyes glow like tree bark in the sun. Surrounded by a luminous gold.
I think this was the first time you opened up. We've known each other for four weeks now. A whole month has gone by, and it only feels like ten minutes. Gods, I wish time could slow down. Things are moving too fast.
Please slow down.
I asked you to tell me more.
You looked surprised. I don't really voice my desires; at least, that's what you said.
You laughed— it was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.
You said we had all the time in the world to get to know each other.
I know that's not true.
The number of hours we have together is actually not large. Please linger in the back, comfortably or uncomfortably. Please leave your scarf with me and come back later for it.
Yet, I know there won't be a later.
I can only hope you'll still greet me with the same smile and the same happy gaze.