I always come across you so randomly, and surprisingly. It’s not because I have forgotten that you existed, because I could never do that, but often I forget to look for you. And with so much distance between us, you can see how these things happen. But I just found you again.

And every time I do, I start thinking about what we were supposed to have, what we still could have. I think of the many times I’ve imagined myself in front of you, for the first time, and you’re laughing like this happens everyday and I’m so nervous like I’ve never done this before and you casually get me naked in a whirlwind of curls, vintage lingerie and sticky sweat. You’re promising me Southern barbecue as you are inspecting me in a way that should make me feel self-conscious if I wasn’t so engrossed in being enthralled by every detail of you as you come over me. I think of your pink cheeks, glowing with my hand print. I think of me lost in your knots. And then, after all that, I imagine us dancing, and you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. I always imagine that at that moment I’ll realize that my entire life, my entire idea of what is beautiful was based on you, dancing, even if I’d never seen it before, I’d always known it.

I imagine it’s morning, the morning after and in a bed I’ve never seen before I am seeing another of my favourite sides of you. The natural-lit, sleepy-eyed, calming-force of my body. With your fingers trailing across me in a way that means more ‘I understand’ than ‘I love you’ - which you do because you know I need it - you head for the kitchen. You make me an egg, you pour me juice, you sit across from me with a coffee mug in your hand and your hair tossed to one side and I imagine that it will be a perfect moment.