The love of my life wakes me up in the morning with the rustle
of boiling water and the pop of a toaster. The love of my life knows
to rub my back when I’m on the phone with my mom.
The love of my life wipes the dried lip gloss from the rim of my cup
and teaches me to pick up after myself. The love of my life learns
to be patient because I can be a slow learner and I’m mad about it.
The love of my life knows how I want it and when I want it
and how I like it and when I like it and when I don’t. Maybe you aren’t
the love of my life, maybe this is just an outline of what I want my lover
to pick up on along the way, since I’ve had so many “loves of my life”
in my lifetime. Because I love like that, with all of me in every moment
we get, even if it’s only a few spare seconds before it’s time to give it up.
Because I’ve learned to remember us in moments:
in the sun,
on the sofa,
in a twin-sized bed.
Because the full story isn’t always what I make it up to be, but I treasure
the fragile and ephemeral state of how beautiful we worked together
before we shifted apart, like plates of ice blanketing a lake making room
for spring. Because even though the mirror is dirty, I love to look at us
anyway. Because maybe you are the love of my life.
Because if I was thinking of someone after us, I wouldn’t really love you.