The Right One

He’s out there, picturing me in his daydreams. He keeps metaphors and blank pages in his back pocket, ready to catch the moment when it appears. 

He writes to swallow up his turning obligations—
clarifying, 
clearing, 
cleaning. 

He smells the romance before I do and smiles often. He cherishes the last drips of the bath water and the sound of crunching carrots. He strives for the weightless, the everlasting. 

His eyes sparkle at the thought of tomorrow's trip. He memorizes the breaths I take right before the important moments, always wondering what corridors I'm in. 

He hears the universe when she calls and whispers what he learns into my ear before sleep. He meets me at the peak and cradles my repetition, worries, and false beliefs. He is inspired to try, at least. 

He plays, 
he bends…