I could meet you again twenty years from now and you will look the same; my memory will age you so that I always know you anywhere. After we first met I used to have dreams about you, always walking ahead of me and turning around corners just out of my sight. The truth is that I used to think that was some kind of sign. The truth is that I used to think that I was a piece of salt that refused to melt. The truth is I never finish puzzles because at a certain point I always lose interest. The truth is that I always say that I lost the pieces.
I drink more coffee than I should because of you and now my heart beats a little too fast. I always have trouble falling asleep. I dream sometimes of cities that don’t exist and they are places where I might find you if I could find them on a map. I’ve never been across an ocean. I’ve never learned a language; not really, not completely. I’ve never given myself over to anything completely. Sometimes I wake up and you’re not there and I think that I’m a ghost. I used to be scared of ghosts. I used to be scared of what I thought I couldn’t see. Now, I’m scared of what I know I can’t see. There are some things we never see coming.
I think that you’re like the last line of a song I can’t stop singing. You’re the stained glass window of my childhood home. You’re the story I told so many times that my tongue reformed with the shape of you. I’ve never wanted anything so much. I always wanted to believe that I didn’t need anything. The first time I said your name it warmed my mouth like hot chocolate.
I can be stupid. I don’t admit to my failings. I think I saw the end of the world once; there were pictures of people with ash on their skin. I used to have the habit of leaning back in chairs and staring at lights until I imagined that I could see the face of God. I stopped believing in everything when I realized I didn’t want to believe in anything that I could lose.
You’re the one thing I kept meaning to believe in. Now I miss you more than sleep, more than the sky, even more than sound; I would give up every song I’ve ever sung along to, the waves crashing on the lake that lulled me to sleep one summer, the chorusing peeper frogs, the wind through the field where I ran as a child.
I miss you. I’m sorry. I keep hoping that, maybe, in twenty years you’ll recognize me first.