This is for you (the awaited one)

Daydream of you. You were still close, I made pancakes with maple syrup. We listened to rare soul, to spring in lightly packaged sun showers, and talked about art. Oh, how you've grown – from that fragile body in my narrow bed lightyears ago to this extension of life. My beloved (flesh and blood).

Nightmare with you. The room was cold and the outside world was banging on the door, screaming to let it in. I remember holding you until you fell asleep, lying awake watching you, your pale forehead, keeping track of the steps outside that door (the thin thing between us and fear, hatred, the unknown).

Future for you. Still unwritten. I feel nothing but childish pride: there will be no tomorrow like this.