I’ll know how many freckles he’ll have

Next time I’ll be able to write odysseys of how she pronounces her S

I’ll memorize all the laughs he’ll let me hear

I’ll learn all the colours that she doesn’t like in the world

I’ll study the lines of their hands to make a map of our reunion

I’ll know which eyelashes are older than the newer ones, and I’ll name each wish: "Please don’t leave."

I’ll kiss each petal that bears the memory of how he tied his shoelaces in three different ways

I’ll jump all the odd numbers of the hopscotch to know what music put them to sleep

I’ll scream in every avenue of green light to know what name she gave herself

I’ll stay in the silence of mass in order to see every wound they forgot about their body

I’ll translate every Latin to Romance just to know how he cooks his lunches

What I’m

saying is

that

I’ll sit thousands of hours in the rain, thunder, and hail in order to know how she called me before she knew me.

TA.