deja vu
There are those moments when you glimpse the future, and what could be. Like today, right now, me in bed tinkering on my laptop with my stubby toes pointing at you. You read your notes, oblivious and yet I wonder if you’re thinking the same thoughts as me, or whether you really are reading your notes. Both possibilities make me smile. There’s nothing special about the room we’re in, it’s not even the perfect one of my dreams (a lilac-painted wall does not match my temperament in any of its variations) but at the moment I feel a kind of perfection that only we two would subscribe to. It’s kinda like looking up to the sky and seeing a cloud form into a weird chicken with no legs. A weird-looking chicken-shaped cloud blob is not something I would point out to anyone else, but I’d point it out to you and I’d know even if you didn’t see it you’d still love me anyway and ruffle my hair and think it endearing that I saw a chicken in the clouds. And then you’d say “you’re the chicken in my clouds” and it would feel more meaningful than any I love you anyone ever said to anyone else.
