When we meet.

I don’t mind anymore that I don’t know you yet. I don’t mind that you’re a stranger. I have a lifetime to spend discovering the different ways your name tastes on my tongue. I have years and years to dip my toes into the waters of you, the you-ness of your eyes, your laugh, how your hands fold and clasp. I’ve had it all wrong, searching for a reservoir when you are the sea. Honey, I’m wading into my knees, I’m diving deep, I’m underwater with this mystery that is a question of who are you? Just as important, who will you become? Followed by, who will we be? I’m sixteen feet under and still swimming and someday, there will be you. You exhale air to my taut lungs. I let it go. If there are years that ask questions, these are scattered with inquisitions like, are you a tomato from the vine person and do you have callouses on your fingers from strumming a guitar? Small things. Make up a life things. I want to collect the answers like a gift. I don’t mind that I don’t know you yet anymore. My hands hold my hopes. I’ve stopped scattering seeds, I am waiting for good earth, mossy and smelling green. I don’t mind you don’t know my name yet. I have a lifetime to listen to mine fall from your tongue in every color.