On the day that I meet the man I’m going to marry
I will probably sleep past my alarm,
trip over my shoes out the door,
and stop at the grocery store on the way to work
because I forgot that today is my day to bring breakfast.
he’ll be there picking out fruit or cereal
and when he says hello
I’ll just look at him and say,
“I’m really sorry you have to meet me this way.”
as I try to fix my hair and adjust my shirt.
we’ll probably exchange numbers and
drink coffee at some shitty diner the following night.
we’ll laugh about how we met,
me running into him as I turned an aisle too quick.
he’ll tell me that there is something different about me,
he’ll notice how I hold my coffee,
how I stare into space and swear I’m paying attention.
he’ll probably notice right off the bat
that I have a hard time sitting still
and mid sentence I’ll interrupt him to say,
“let’s go buy a tent. let’s camp outside tonight.”
I’ll notice how he looks at me with curiosity,
how his eyes grow big when I answer in excitement,
how he keeps reaching for my hand but is too shy to grab it
(I make the first move to put him out of his misery)
I keep track of how many times he fidgets with his watch,
I note that he doesn’t like too much cream in his coffee,
I chip in that I like a little coffee with my cream.
we’ll probably go back to my house and
watch the candles flicker shadows against the wall.
I’ll probably look at my bed and remember the nights I felt so lonely
and look back at him and smile
when he asks if I too have been looking
in all the wrong places