I thought about you today.

Thought about the dimples burrowing in your cheeks, and

the warm breath softness of your skin.

I wondered what you’re wondering about, 

what your hopes and dreams are,

what you wake up each morning thinking about.

Are you a dewey morning person or a sacred night owl?

I wondered what your favourite colour is, and

if you like the snow, and

if you talk about wine in all the ways tannins contract your tongue, 

or,

like, 

you definitely get a hint of… 

grapes!

I wondered if you dance with your devils, or

in the moonlight, or

you bake in the sunshine with sea salt drying on your bare skin.

I wondered if you speak French, or

play piano with ivory fingers, or

smell like all the times I drank young coconuts in Ubud.

I wondered if your heart is open, or 

broken, or

on your sleeve.

And I wondered if we’ve already met, or

when we’ll cross cobbled paths.

And then:

I wondered if our time has passed.

If I missed you, because I was too afraid of becoming.

Or if I’ll miss you still,

because of how big this feels and how small I feel inside it.

If I’m too scared to grow into the woman you need;

to not only accept this part of myself but to blossom into it, to plant deep roots into it, to reach skyward.

To expand, to grow, to 

be.