To my Future Person,
I have imagined meeting you on a rainy morning, hesitant to cross the street because it was raining way too hard. I would notice you, taking cover in the shed. You would look up at the sky and your eyebrows would furrow just a little. I would find you cute, then I would cross the street, hoping in my heart that I could cross paths with you again, maybe tomorrow or the next day after that.
I have imagined meeting you in an elevator, busy looking down at your phone, maybe checking an email or checking what song needs to be played in your earphones.
You wouldn't notice me, of course. I am not the noticeable type.
But I would notice you, and how you would tap your fingers on your leg while looking up, waiting for the elevator door to open, then I would hope in my heart that I could meet you again, somewhere between here and there.
I have imagined meeting you at the side of the road, frustrated by how your left tire blows up. I would stop my own car and would probably try to help. I would notice how your nose scrunches because of irritation and how your sweat would start to trickle down your forehead and down your nose.
I would smile a little at the sight.
I might notice you long before you could ever notice me. We could have met a lot of times before you could even notice my existence.
And then I would probably need a ton of courage before I could even strike up a conversation.
Maybe I would never strike up a conversation.
Maybe I will.
Maybe if I saw you the fourth time, I would finally have the courage to ask a silly question like, 'What time is it?' or I could try to talk about the weather, or I could straight up say, I like you.
Maybe I would smile, maybe you would smile back.
I don't know how love stories start, but maybe ours wouldn't be any different, or maybe it would.
Nothing in my world is conventional. I am not afraid of extraordinary.
If I ever got so lucky, and you noticed my fluttering heart, I wonder how do you want to be loved?
Would you like letters and daffodils? Would you like picnics and seaside date nights? Would you like a love song and a poem? Would you like movies and rock songs? Would you like concerts and sunsets? Would you like sex and strawberries?
Would you like someone to adore your entirety? Would you like someone to touch you like you're the most precious being ever created? Would you like someone to love you the way you're supposed to be loved? Would you like someone to write about how your eyes squint when you're angry or how your lips quiver when you're about to cry? Would you like to be embedded in an artwork, a novel, a mathematical equation, logic, and a wistful heart? Would you like to be etched in a notebook, scratched by my nails, and woven in my soul? Would you like to be under me or on top of me, writhing in pleasure and pain?
These are all mere assumptions. I would never confine you in a box when you could be anything you want to be. I would never fit you in concepts or see you in black and white. I would admire your individuality. I will encourage it and let it grow exponentially.
I could only love you so much because I can only give the love I know how to give. I could hurt you, way more deeply than I thought I could ever do. I'm not perfect. I want to be loved too. I won't settle for a love that is only half-meant. Where I would only be given a fraction of something, affirmations with no meaning and love with no action. I want love. Your love.
I haven't met you yet, or maybe I have. I'm excited about getting to know you more. Let me go ahead and save you a seat.
Yours,
R
