I’m not sure if I’ll know. If I’ll ever figure out if it was just a coincidence that day. Or were you suppose to be there? Were we suppose to be there? Did a million preplanned footsteps lead us to this encounter? Or was it just your everyday, run of the mill accidental occurrence? But I wouldn’t quite call you an accident. No. I would call you a 4 billion year moment in the making, a star-crossed astrological event, that the gods sat down and discussed over dinner. For accidents are things we don’t see coming, like that baseball that your brother threw so fast that your eyes couldn’t tell your brain fast enough to catch as it steals a base through your mother’s kitchen window. No. Because I saw this coming, or perhaps I wished it. I would have responded to this moment with nostalgia had it not been for the caterpillar in my stomach, that turned from cocoon to stumbling butterfly the second I saw you. Destiny, fate, these are words for dreamers, for believers, for singer/songwriters trying to make their start between deadlines and night shifts on the corner street of a town no one’s ever known, singing the lyrics to the best song no one’s ever heard. Those words belong to them. And this moment to me. It’s hard to tell if you noticed. It may have passed you, a breeze in early spring, that you welcomed yet forgotten. Like the slow hum of the refrigerator in your kitchen that never had the pleasure of advancing passed your subconscious. I wish it was that easily suppressed. No. Seeing you was like lightening, like shivers, like that ridiculous flash on the camera of the photographer taking the family portrait, like flashbacks, like summer rain, like movies, where the guy gets the girl with a cheesy one-liner that you saw coming but still curl up to watch, like fireworks off the dock at 2 a.m., like hurricanes, like sweet-tea, like that perfect drum solo from Phil Collin’s In The Air Tonight, like torpedoes, like the drop of a roller coaster, like caps in the air on graduation, like summer, like footprints, like hands that crest and valley out the window of your best friends car. Like a soldier surprising his wife by making it home before Christmas. You hit me. Like a linebacker trying to get scouted. You hit me like a wave twice my size, that didn’t even notice its effect because you never cease to stop crashing the shoreline. And now all I have left are these instances, these thoughts, these moments that all make me think of that one time that amongst a sea of people… I saw you. Coincidence?
I still drunk-text you even when I’m sober
and I still find your hair clogging the bathtub drain
but none of that compares to the shape
of your mouth on mine
and Noah would probably want 5,000 copies of you
on his ark, and God probably’d like to see you
in heaven, or wherever it is
that we go after this.