I am happy.
I come home to my best friends every day, where there’s always music blasting, curling irons heating up and another hilarious story to tell.
When I come home to my crappy college apartment, I also come home to stylists, counselors, tutors and sisters.
With them, I am so full. I am so happy.
And yet.
Sometimes, I like to think about love.
Not the temporary hookup, or the guy who buys me a drink and then never calls.
Not the sugary, empty promises of swiping right for the thrill of it. Nope, the real thing.
Hi.
I might already know you. I might meet you in ten years.
But I like to think about us.
I like to think about us and the soul-searing, slow dancing, laugh-out-loud love we’re gonna have.
I think about the way we won’t realize what we’ve found at first.
I think about the songs that will slowly change meaning as we make memories.
I think about rainy nights when we will sit and talk on the porch for hours, letting our guard fall down around us like the drops from the sky.
I think about the things you will be able to tell me with just a look.
I think about the way we will challenge and shelter each other all at once.
I think about the way your eyes will light up when you show me your favorite corners of your world.
I think about the way you’ll make fun of me with my sisters and play catch with my brother.
I think about the way we’ll become one person because we’ve known and loved our own selves long enough to be ready for that.
I think about the way you will feel like coming home.