Years from now i own a tiny apartment on a block that feels just as perfect as a movie.
It’ll be too small to fit most of our furnishings but just big enough to dance with you in.
You’ll make fun of me for always carrying a journal with sketches of skyscrapers I never want to forget, but i’ll laugh back knowing you have photos of me somewhere taking in the city skyline like a newborn going to the supermarket.
I’ll tease you that the city was my first love but you’d know it wouldn’t be home without you.
After evenings of throwing out paper sticks and drinking coffee you’ll come home tried but never tried enough to slow dance. And you’ll kiss my forehead before you head into the shower.
We’ll catch each other up on work and our crazy encounters we had while eating takeout. And even after all this time you’ll make sure to kiss me goodnight.
