i want to love you for the longest time

which is something i never

thought i’d say because at sixteen,

i didn’t imagine myself

over eighteen—nineteen if i was

lucky—in love, joyful—if even alive—

but you arrive like sunlight

ever-present, glorious, and suddenly

i see a home, your smile

on the walls, warm cheeks red

with memories we’ve made,

and there are windows, windows

so we are always able

to watch for something we haven’t seen

yet.

the future has never felt so close. i count

the days i don’t fall

asleep with you beside me, and while it is

not too hard—for these days are

so few—i never stop

wanting to wake up with you in

every morning, waiting for

your breath against my cheek,

eager to share the fresh air

of this new day, hoping that last

lonely night will finally be the last;

i count the days i fall

for you harder, not a

tumble or a trip

but a step off

the edge into curiosity,

thoughtful, intentional, into

the rainbow of not-knowing

but hoping, belief

that there is always something new

in tomorrow—these days have

yet to stop. i want

to love you for the longest time

so that when winter springs

and summer falls, our sun will

always rise.