You noticed that I say I know and I catch myself each time now. Each time I say I know, I know I don’t really know, and you know deep down I know that. So here’s what I think.
I think you’re my person. I think we were meant to meet. I think we were placed at the ends of the earth and have maneuvered closer and closer with each lifetime that passes. I think you’re my Achilles heel. I think you’re funny and maybe a little too snarky for your own good. I think you could balance out my space cadet tendencies and I could balance out your insecurities. I think we could rent apartments until you’re 110 and I’m 101 and I’d be happy. I think we could adopt a cat or dog or five. I think you’re wiser than you give yourself credit for. I think you’ve worked hard to reach where you’re at and you should be proud. I think you’re humble even when you shouldn’t be. I think you’re bad at taking compliments. I think someone put a piece of you in my chest and a piece of me in your palm and we’re like magnets trying to find our partners. I think we’re compatible and copacetic and every other word that lands in the thesaurus under “content togetherness.” I think your hair would feel nice between my fingers again. I think we’d fight over horrid wallpaper and I think we’d always make up because we’re giant suckers for one another. I think the sex would always be good. I think you think too much, I think I think too much, and I think we don’t think about how good this could be because we’re both scared. But I think you’re good. I think this is good. And I think I’m excited to see where it goes. I think when you stop worrying and I stop saying “I know” when I don’t, we’ll be ready. I think we could watch the apocalypse together and find it beautiful, because we’d be together as the world burned. I think that’s fucked up. I think that’s why it’s perfectly us.
“dreaming of a love at the end of the world”
