Sometimes I like to cruise in the evening- hiding behind the darkness from all the closed doors lined along the street. With the streetlights giving up from under appreciation and the moon that's inhibiting itself from its natural illumination, I turn up my music and begin to invest in my own world.

My first thoughts are you. 

My mind begins to wonder, "How do you do that?" You've certainly built a contraption that leads straight to my inbox of thoughts labeled, 'Love.' It's kind of like an answering machine that fills the empty spaces of the cassette tape that is…my mind. And on this drive, when the thoughts of you haven't drowned my cultivated crown, I peer at the unnoticed details that make every house on the street unique- the way your freckles connect to tell a story.

I remember the first time you ever let me cup my hands around your face. It was like I switched the "ON" button for you to glow. Your freckles and eyes nearly blinded me. That was the first time I ever witnessed the physical representation of what is "beautiful" and "good." I noticed  your hands were left dangling at your sides. I reached for your left hand, artificially blossomed your fingers to reveal the smooth complexion of your palm, and drove it straight to the center of my chest. The center holds the vibrations of the moment. I wanted you to feel how I felt standing close to the woman of my dreams. I wanted you to feel hopeful for what we could become. 

I remember the first time I ever woke up to you. Never in my life I had seen such innocence in a human being older than a second. You always seem the brightest snuggled in your blanket, smiling back at me while I fail to shuffle the equal division of the worst pillow ever. You're bright because your thoughts are quelled, and all you can think about is to finally be unselfishly held after a long day of physical independence- or you can say after being divided from your Yang. The light is finally shining. I would have loved nothing more than to lay in bed with you over getting up to face the rest of the world. That was the first time I never minded the light for waking me up. Why wouldn't I want to wake up to the fresh light your soul emits every morning? Call me addicted.

I remember the first time you ever sang to me. Lost Boy by Ruth B,,,,