a love with history

I. Talking to you
until the early hours
of every morning
has taught me something
about passing time.
It is easiest with a clear mind,
a riveting conversationalist,
to keep me sharp
like I was always meant to be.
It's impossible to doze off
to the tune of your hard logic,
your quick tongue,
and your familiar words. 

II. You remind me
of that spark of youth
people tell me
I missed out on.

III. We are strangers now
but we were everything then,
before now,
before this timeline.
We were children of stars;
I used to throw them at you
like snowballs
and you hid behind the rings
of Saturn,
and promise better ones
than the planet could give.
I said
you would have to get
different ones anyways,
because Saturn's just
wouldn't fit.
When we'd watch the sun
make her grand entrance,
I painted your face with the light
and you explained the logic
behind its brilliance.
You swirled the ocean
with your fingertips
and I told you
how much I saw its cool hues
in your eyes.
We darted across meteor belts
and played hopscotch
with the world's borders.
We professed our love
in other languages
that our current tongues
don't recognize.
I know that when our hands
find their way back together,
the galaxies
don't stand a chance.

IV. You're disarming,
already skilled at the art
of dismantling my walls
and unlocking my lockbox secrets.
I can't hide from you,
but you're nowhere to be seen.
You are a ghost,
haunting my heart.
Never there,
but found in every inch.

V. If what you say is true,
about quantum entanglement,
then thunderstorms
will wreak havoc on this soil
when we meet again.
We could bring heaven
crashing down.
At our reunion,
the gods will clink glasses,
the ground will shake,
the seas will roar,
and the stars will welcome us
home.