Sometimes I wish I knew who you were. It seems that on nights like these, when I’m at home watching quirky movies, reading books about lost and found lovers, cooking dinner for two even though I’m only one, and dreaming so vividly that my reality completely shifts… it’s nights like these when I miss you the most.
You see… I’m looking for you. Perhaps that in and of itself is a mistake. You don’t find love. Love finds you… and it finds you at the most (in)opportune times.
The heater is on and I’m writing this from under the little tent I made out of my bed covers. But I’m still cold. I can’t help but wonder who you are… where you’ve come from… what you feel like. Time seems to pass so slowly when you’re searching, and again perhaps therein lies my error.
What if I’m not supposed to find you… and you’re not supposed to find me? What if we’re supposed to find each other at that precise moment in time when neither of us are looking? What if…