Until then

There's this perfect scenario in my head of the day we'd get to see each other again.

I'll be in a hurry to catch this new local romcom movie of that one actor you like so much and you will be there among other movie goers still lounging in bean bags. I would catch you staring at me from a distance and holding your gaze for what would be the longest three seconds of my life — but I would feel nothing. Then slowly, real slowly, just like in movies, I would turn to look at the face of an angel whose fingers mine are latched. I would smile the same way I did the first time you told me you love me and we'd walk away from you without ever looking back.

I want you to know that after all you've done, I am still capable to give the same extent of love I gave you once.

Although sometimes, I would picture something totally different. We would hold each other's gaze until a smile forms in our lips and our toes lead us to where our fingers could reunite. I missed you, you'd say. Then for what would feel like an eternity, I would bury my head in that familiar space between your shoulder and your chest.

What took you so long, I'd whisper.