I wrote your name for the first time last night. I’ve never written you before, never written those letters in quite that order; the consonants kissing, the vowels vying for attention. Lowercase love.
As my pen spiraled, I felt an uncertainty that was tempered by a surety that we could be very happy, sharing the same proximity. Your letters and my letters cozying up together, building a house of words to live in, and adopting a slobbery but loveable semicolon.
I wouldn’t mind if we had to wait a while. After all, life is long in its brevity, and I have sentences to spare.