Future Lover

Where are you?
Are you alone, wondering where I am,
how the stars will align on the day we finally collide?
I hope you’re with friends,
nursing a hangover on Sunday,
at your cousin’s house watching football
with bags and bags of chips
and some tacos
and a red Gatorade or two.

Have you been reading?
Do you long to discuss how finite this life is in the face of imminent mortality?
I hope so, and I can’t wait to pick your brain but — shit, you’re a comic book guy, aren’t you?
How…boring, but I accept your flaws —
you trim your beard and leave the hair in the bathroom sink,
forget to take the garbage out for a third day in a row;
you didn’t wish my mom a happy birthday last year.

You’ll get frustrated with my flaws too,
all the inconsistency and hyperbole,
the complaints, and my greediness for your affection.
Please remember, I hate to be touched by anyone but you —
it just means I love you, please indulge me.

Where are you?
I hope you are not lonely,
only waiting for me to prove my worthiness,
to appear and show you we’re the real deal,
all-in, end-of-the-earth kind of lovers.

I can’t wait to weather this storm with you.