I love the way we zone out during the most useless parts of the day to watch the rain wash down our windows, wondering whether Dickinson or Whitman ever imagined a little universe bursting into existence
in every raindrop like we do. When the big bang plays over and over again within the rain - each droplet breaking and unbreaking until one planet gets it right, we both know it’s more momentous than earning minimum wage. You smile
and I smile as you appear in the doorway like a breath of dandelions. The sun takes it’s final curtsey to the crowd of clouds and I flap the wings hidden beneath my button-up.
Rip these pages from it’s notebook under the purple sky and we’ll stuff them in our chests next to the antique pens. Let me see that certain glow of yours that you and Hermione share when you’re both in the library
and I’ll understand more and more that most men will never really know the true definition of beauty. Stand on the tip of your toes and meet me in that surreal field of white flowers where none of anything really matters. With your chin in rest on my chest, I’ll notice that you’ve left eraser shavings next to the faint pencil marks that used to be my jagged edges. You’ll take a deep breath
and exhale the day’s stresses like cigarette smoke, whispering histories and philosophies from every different dimension into my ear. For that brief instant, I’ll step away from the smell of green tea on your skin
to look into the blue and yellow solar system behind your eyes. All our friends, everyone from the birds swimming in the trees to the grass in circles around our feet nod in agreement that we’ve both been counting down in our heads
like two rockets before liftoff ever since our first slow dance under that big tree when you showed me how to drink from the stars from down on Earth.