Oct 17, 2017
Our “hello” was
arms thrown around your neck
and hands ready to catch
a waist
already leaning into them.
It was lips
against lips
before words.
After waves,
but before “hi”
After eyes
locking the minute one got
out of the car.
The way the screen door slams shut
as she ran to you.
The way your car door echoed
when you caught her.
It was nestling into the crook of your neck,
your nose in her hair.
Holding one piece of home
that wasn’t a house.
It was a moment
where security was real.
It is a memory—
rather, a promise
of people
we’ve yet to meet.
Of moments
where “home”
will come inside,
lock the door,
and stay.
I think about the future a lot