let me take you with the water lilies

so close your eyes, and let me take you to the water lily ponds. way back when i tripped over my words trying to reach you, petals falling awkwardly from my lips. you’ll have a laugh, and i’ll put my head in your shoulder, and we’ll think of the good old days, think of when we had no faces to place our names to. and i’ll tell you how your name is the one thing i scrawled onto that board that i haven’t changed. and then we’ll smile again, and i’ll take you somewhere else, next.

so close your eyes, and let me hold you by the pinkie, ever so gentle, for i am so deeply infatuated with you, to the couch in my living room. like the one in your dream about us and a sleepover with all the missing beds. you’d be quiet, maybe, in the darker days, or maybe you wouldn’t, and you’d say all the things you need to say. and i’d listen, and i’d get us both a blanket, and we’d hug, without the pseudo-pillows, and i’d get you that ice cream and those comfort carbs. maybe play “the night we met” by lord huron. and we’d be together, and that’s what matters.

so close your eyes, and let me know when you’re having your sunlit smiles, but your rainy days, most of all: i want to know about the rainbows formed at the bottom of your waterfalls. we’ll laugh about you and your kids, and me tending to your pool, and i’ll text you about sunscreen patents when i’m supposed to be in school. and we’ll elbow each other about practice kissing and stupid dates. and everything can be okay.

so close your eyes, and let me take you to somewhere. where i’m awake when you’re awake, and the moon kisses us to sleep at the same time. to that inevitable day where you have that plane ticket in your hand, and i don’t have to imagine how it is to see how much taller you are than me.

so open your eyes, and let me take you to chicago. where you’re in that same turtleneck, and i’m not wearing any perfume. you’ll hold out your hand like in the movies, or something cheesy like that, and i’ll jump into your arms instead. you’ll show me around town, and we’ll do the things we said we would, and we’ll get frozen yogurt and maybe head to the mall and laugh. there’s no atlantic between us, just our palms pressed together and a walk around the city. and i’ll think back to the water lilies, and how even if they didn’t exist, we would have ended up here, anyways.

somehow. some way. the universe would have brought us together.