like really dreaming, the day I met you. The first word you spoke to me must’ve been the genesis of my yearning. Funny, I don’t even remember what that word was. I’m bad at keeping track of things. Time, for one. The morning I met you I was probably running late. Most likely having slept through my third consecutive alarm, barely managing to slip through the classroom door already left ajar for any last-minute stragglers. Funny how the universe made sure to occupy every vacant seat in there except for the one right next to you. I like to believe in divine intervention now.

I came to know you through the new dreams that seeped into my waking hours. For the first time I didn’t need sleep to get there. I started dreaming when you took me to that pretentious restaurant to giggle nervously over salmon side salads we didn’t care much for. I started dreaming when you took me home to your city to let me feel a new family. I started dreaming when I realized I didn’t need an alarm, or two, or three. I woke up to a life I yearned for. To a seat saved for me. To a door wide open. To divine intervention, over and over, this breathing, timeless thing we share.

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