I’ll text you goodnight.
I’ll text you good morning—
you will feel everything,
but you won’t ever feel foolish.

When you call me,
I’ll answer—each and every time.

When you miss me,
I’ll be over for dinner.

I won’t hide my joys,
the half that are mine,
even if they hurt you.

I won’t exclude you from my life.
I will share it with you—
all god’s fallen angels,
a love greater than bliss.

When I hear the ache in your voice,
we’ll dance.
When I see the sorrow in your eyes,
we’ll drink red wine.

And when the dust settles,
after a few short weeks
that will feel like forever—
I’ll return,
embracing you when you need it most
with a love greater than you ever thought possible.

I’ll lay beside you,
like a soft spring rain on your windowsill,
holding you through the night.
I’ll be your warm blanket in the café.

And in peaceful sleep,
join you—content,
knowing truly,
we never yielded to an unfair world—

that spring came,
and my prayers were answered.
It was yes, always yes,
forever yes,
and you were still my great love.

—

Come morning,
we’ll have too much coffee,
hold hands at the table,
feel everything all over again—
but this time, together,
resigning ourselves
to figuring out the rest by July.

When summer finally comes
and the ink has dried,
we’ll travel somewhere new,
a moment in time
belonging only to us.

A countryside, overseas maybe—
only you, in candlelight,
and nothing else.