It’s like when you walk into a room you’ve been in before
but now everything smells of lilac
and everything is bright and everything is brilliantly blue
like everything is a little bit better less bitter than before.

But you don’t know how and you don’t know why. So you wait.
Until she walks in. And you hear her voice and you know, you just know.

Her eyes are the blue of the room, you could go jump right into them. She has the kindest teeth, the smallest hands, and the cheeks that chirp hello. Her personality moves through you in the sharpest way, but god, she’s so soft, you yearn to hold her.

And in that moment you feel that little speck you may have felt once or twice before, settle into your soul and course through your veins and make you struggle to breathe.

You can see it –
holding her hand, her bags, her waist, her jacket when she’s tying her shoe.
Kissing her nose in the morning
and in the night.
Having her children, raising them, feeding them, finding them, losing them.

Growing old. Telling her no, sweetie, you don’t need  face lift. No sweetie, don’t dye your hair.

No sweetie, I’m fine. We’re fine. Fate exists, heaven is real.

You shake her hand and introduce yourself, choking on the scent of lilacs,
blinded by the blue.


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