I watch you play adult in high-rise apartments-
Paying bills, folding laundry, loading the dishwasher,
In Louboutin heels and tailored blazers,
Drinking morning coffees in kitchens with marble backdrops.
But your heart still pauses at girlish intricacies-
Dream catchers from the market, wooden musical boxes, Parisian pink accents.
The entire Harry Potter series is alongside bank statements,
And there is a teddy bear in the corner.
We are a sea away from our parents, from home.
I flew to your place from mine, but there is something unfamiliar
About the way the air is void of our childhood;
There are no long-forgotten memories that jump from these surroundings,
Nothing that makes us say,
“Remember that time when…?”
But we do the same things anyway;
Drive to the cinemas for a Disney remake,
Succumb to nostalgia, and spend the night watching originals,
(Even though we both know better than happily ever afters now).
You have work early the next morning, and I have a flight to catch,
So we stay up later than we should,
Listening to each other’s stories like a good novel we just can’t put down,
Words tumbling from our mouths the way we used to roll down grassy hills;
This is a type of effervescence no technology can ever convey.
I tell you about a laughter I save for moments like these,
For when happiness is this pure, this distilled, this sacred.
I want to run to the scientists and announce that somehow we’ve done it – we’ve travelled back in time,
For how else do you explain the way we can sit here as adults
But, in every other way, be so completely and wonderfully,