A Hope Chest of Light Keeping

Before I knew

When I think about love… 
I think about how I would feel on Sunday mornings at 11:00am.
Well rested and aware of a whole day stretching before me like an endless road. 
I think about the sound of my mother laughing in the kitchen on the phone or my father throwing my sister in the pool-her limbs akimbo as she laughed towards the sun. 
I think about the sound my childhood dog made on the hardwood floors, and my brother’s hands opening a can of coke.
I think about my grandmother dabbing a tissue to her eye when something was really funny-and I think about how many hands held me up when she died. 
When I think about love, I think about trees turning yellow and orange and red, aflame with nature’s calling to go to sleep for a while. I think about crisp breezes and the smell of chimney smoke and a promise of snow. 
I think about the lilac bush next to the house, how her branches cast off the loveliest scent in May. How June is full of flowers and my birthday is a celebration of all that summer could bless us with. 
I think about a cold library and the smell of a book. And the pop of a flip flop or bubble gum or a new bottle of champagne. 
I think about stars and watching them in freezing cold February because the sky is so clear.
I think about the day I carried a vase of sweet peas home on the 1 train and walked from Columbus circle home just because it was nice out. I think about the wind chime left behind, still making its delicate noises even though I am not there to hear it. 
I think about every furrowed brow brought together by worry from my friends and the space where they let me talk and the mess that they let me make and how they love me because of my mess and not despite it.
When I think about love I think about God, about how I feel all things are soft hands guiding me towards the best life has to offer. How my suffering is also a gift towards the right situation, because now I know and I can help those I care about through it with no judgement.
I think about every curtain call, and every poem, and every picnic I’ve ever had. I think about loving little things.
Like saying good morning when you hike a trail and run into people, like a fresh made bed, like a bubble bath and a book. Like how your fingers cross when you are listening to me-and how you don’t inturrupt.
When I think about love I think about your knees against the steering wheel, and your soft voice and how swiftly you will turn around if I call your name. 
I think about the brightness and calmness and fun you possess and how I want to be near you. I think about what you’ve been through, I think about how you are kind either because of it or in the face of it. I think about holding your hand as we walk, near the water, on the boardwalk, up a mountain, in a new city, across the desert of dating into Something Else.
When I think about love,
I think about how you would feel next to me, below my hands and above me and if I could keep your eye contact or if I would be too shy. If you would touch my face and how I would touch yours. 
If we would be home to each other.
If I’m ready to offer what I have up, and hope that it is enough.
But maybe for some of this it’s too early to say… but in case you were wondering: I’m thinking about it. 

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