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Someday, sometime, I’ll know you. I’ll come home to fruit on our counters and milk and eggs in the fridge. The mail in a stack with a pile of keys on top. We will have odd things we both collected over the years stuck in drawers and bins. Our bathroom will have toothpaste splatters in the mirror and soaps in the shower. We will live and be domestic, the necessities in our lives dancing around and with each other.
One day I’ll meet you, and I most likely won’t be able to guess what’s in store for us. Maybe we’ve already met. I know myself too well to say it’s not too unlikely.
Is it possible for someone to see me as a partner, to feel interested in the good and bad?
I was left before in one of the lowest parts of my life. I want to be better, to not put strain on a relationship in the way I did before. It’s hard for me to understand what I have to do for the sake of a healthy relationship when I myself am not always guaranteed to be healthy.
Someday, sometime. I’ll be doing something with you. Or maybe coming back from an outing with you. Maybe I’ll be in the shower, or walking to my car. And on that day, at that time, I’ll realize it’s gonna be you. You’re going to be the one eating pizza pockets when we are too lazy to make anything good for dinner. You’ll be somebody I can trust to cry in front of. To allow myself to be angry and hurt in front of. I’ll love you, you know. No matter what happens, I’ll have love for you. Let’s hope for that sometime.
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