Five days after the whole planet got into the scheduled annual frenzy of spending money on flowers and chocolates, a.k.a Valentine’s Day, I decided to spend my midweek “holiday” in a coffee shop and–surprise, surprise–write. I have a lot of ideas begging to be set free on paper (or on a Word document), but I chose to post something that I’ve randomly jotted down about a month ago because it’s kind of a fitting “Valentine-themed” entry.
We haven’t met yet.
The day I wrote this, I was just
a lonely girl toeing the line between
being a teenager and a budding adult.
I don’t think about you often,
because in my mind, you are something
not yet solid, something not concrete enough
to dedicate hours of my life when there’s just
so much more to prioritize.
I know that you’re out there, somewhere.
(as cliché as it can get)
But I also know that we haven’t met yet
because it’s not the right time
(or maybe because I just don’t put myself “out there”
enough for fate and destiny to do their jobs.
I’m sorry if you’re waiting for me to do so.)
When I think about you, I think about you a lot.
(Like, a lot)
I think about the things I want to do together.
I want to visit museums with you. Visit art galleries
of artists we haven’t heard of, and
pretend to be avid fans of said artist
(And that visit will not be the last,
because we do end up being real fans of his work.)
I want to hang out in coffee shops and drink
contrasting things like tea and coffee,
hot chocolate and iced latte.
I want to cook pasta together,
(I love pasta)
pretend we’re such food connoisseurs
when in truth, we’re just making excuses
to drink some damn good (expensive) wine.
I want warm hugs and cuddles, your warm legs wrapped
around my (perpetually) freezing feet.
I want kisses on the neck and shoulder and wrist
(because I personally find those more romantic
and you can’t judge me for that, okay?)
I want bite marks as a greeting or goodbye because
“it’s a mated wolves thing”
(and because it will probably disgust a lot of friends
because the idea is just too cheesy and we
just can’t pass up the opportunity, huh?)
I want movie nights spent on the couch arguing about
how commercialism has ruined perfectly good movie plots.
I want the two of us to have a sketchbook each, filled with
rough sketches of one another in ordinary scenes that don’t
even look extraordinary to be drawn on paper
(but we still draw each other in these mundane instances,
because these are the times we find each other
the most captivating)
I want the two of us to keep journals where we both will
wax poetic bullshit about each other.
(But they will be beautiful, poetic bullshit)
I want to stay in libraries where Time will lose its clutch on us,
where we will go to faraway places
through ancient tomes
and stories of revolutions,
and we will leave only when the librarian chases us out
“it’s the damn closing time—let me go home you pesky kids!”
I want to go to concerts where you will film fancams for me
and wipe my tears the whole time—
and even beyond the encore
(you will laugh at me afterwards,
because you know that no matter how many times
I lose my voice, shrieking about these guys,
“They got nothing on you, baby…”)
I want to watch every game of yours and
cheer for you as your number one fan
(even if when you’re on the bench, and I make
a terrible blonde cheerleader)
My mom disapproves of getting tattoos,
But I want to get matching parabatai runes
over our wrists, because we are
more than just partners—we fight for each other.
I want to photograph you against the sunrise, and
it will be the most accurate depiction of
how I see you through my eyes:
a lovely silhouette against the blinding light of the sun,
warmth and light and everything indecipherable—
I want to make scrapbooks of the silliest things
and our most precious (and not-so precious) memories.
I want to religiously eat dinner with our families weekly,
and we will be favorites of both our moms, and our dads
they’ll say nothing
but they will nod at us approvingly.
I want to adopt puppies and plants together, and
call them our beloved children.
I want to do all these things with you,
and the list just grows and grows every day.
I’m a bit lonely without you, but I know that
when the right time comes,
all these things I imagined I will feel
won’t even compare to the real thing.
Until then, I will wait patiently with my notebooks
and my ideas. I will wait patiently and lovingly
until I could shower you all the pent up love I’ve been
saving for you, all these years.
And when we do meet, I can already see your smile
And you’ll say,
“So what’s the first on our agenda?”