Your eyes shone in the winter sun.
My handbag felt too heavy; I’d filled the leather carcass so my hands can be free to hold yours.
We stepped over the paved city roads or cobbled, old sections of the town that has too many untold stories to mention.
My fingers felt jittery and you grabbed onto them, calming me down.
With you, it was always warm hands and cold coffee, or windy days and undisturbed nights.
It was not the perfect first “date”—heck, it was just two souls reaching out.
Our second date is what I’d like to talk about but won’t because I will allow those fiery moments to live on with us and to live on in the moments they were made.
My dearest soulmate, you are everything I did not expect. You found me at a time in my life when I no longer knew who I was, but I was all about figuring you out. You had made me rise to the occasion to get to know the me that was stuck inside; once I did that, I found the world in your eyes.
I wish that I could write the poetry that would explain us, and all the nameless moments that go unnoticed so that the literary world would be sparked by an inspiration like ours—something not yet love, but not short of it.
You are burnt orange, unconventional flowers.
You are that lovely moment when the sun appears after cold rains, on the coast.
You are the odd winter days in summer.
You are like getting lost trying to find a new coffee spot.
You are the moment where the cars stop and let people walk.
You are the little roof one finds when it storms over the towers in the city.
You are like drinking English breakfast before bed and having dinner for breakfast.
You are not the perfect dream date. You are not red hearts and lazing over meals we don’t enjoy.
You are like nature.
You are you and as I am attracted to the song of the birds in the sky and the dew that settles on the evergreen trees across from my home, I am pulled toward you. It’s an almost magnetic and unstoppable force—the way the ocean kisses the seashells or tripping over your laces.
You are real.
You are spilling your coffee and melted ice cream all over your hands. You are a hat blowing away in the wild wind. You are what it’s like to lose my earring in a heated moment of passion. You are real and you are undeniably you and I am undeniably interested in discovering all that you are and so much more.
As I am pulled to discover reality, I am pulled to learn how to love you.
For the first time in my life someone has made time stop in all their realness. You make time stop in just the daily living, in forgetting a pen for an exam or rushing to grab tissues after too many sneezes.
Just like that, you are real.
Reality is within us but together we reside on pink clouds in the sky in our own sort of utopia with my favourite lemonade and a book I have read one too many times. The only difference between these worlds is how the words you read come alive on your lips, the same way I do.
Author: Laila Manie
Image: Christopher Sardegna at Unsplash
Editors: Renée Picard; Caitlin Oriel