In another world, you took the 9am flight and moved into an apartment on Bleecker Street, so you could tell everyone you lived in New York.
In another world, you weren’t so scared of staying still. You bought tickets to things a season away and didn’t care how much it cost. You didn’t care if a relationship cost you a year if it was a time to be remembered.
In another world, there were no years or fears or tears between us. There was just wine and wonder and unpaved roads. Walking is good for the heart, so is love.
In another world, you looked into the gulf of us and stared uncertainty straight in the eye.
In another world, our summer wasn’t so vivid. It was bleak, predictable, regular—because everything becomes regular when you know it will last.
In another world I had nothing to write about because I was too busy living—you beside me—eyes full, mouth alive.
In another world I danced with or without you; I took up the cello.