Hello, Mr. Senator.


We always say that the person we fell in love with is “The One.” but how often do we actually mean what we say?

I don’t like being asked how it end because usually I enjoy telling the inbetweens. hoping to bypass the necessity of failure, lesson of pain.. The new beginnings or continuous endings.

I am impatient and for that many would assume that I like shortcuts. Wrong. I only know the scenic route.


I can close my eyes and recreate that night I met you; I was admiring well crafted figures murmuring to myself when out of nowhere you spoke to me in my native tongue but so much better, I looked at you and smiled, you smiled back. I can close my eyes and sketch every timeline, Even the scent of that coffee shop you asked to meet me on such short notice and I sat waiting for you there with smile on my face with a hint of anxiety.

I can close my eyes and remember and retrace the paint you splattered across my skin with your fingers.

I can close my eyes and remember the taste, Before the heartache.


Are we back together? I ask. Accusatory tones.

I smelled your hair. I indented my head into your shoulder leaving my spot there.

Were we ever apart?

You played a song in your car about how I can leave my toothbrush in your house and how I few days of being together you asked me to live with you, I wanted to scream yes. I wanted to shout YES.

but as usual, I held back..

How can you eat that delicious truffle cake or that delicious lamb knowing how it’ll end? Bellied up, sinfully wiping your mouth, mind tingling with small pangs of regret yet annually repeating?


Kiss my lips, slide through my collarbones, feel my thighs, arched my back, your hands on my waist. The strength of your arms make me airborne. The feeling of you makes me fly. ­

Do you remember your old favorite songs? The ones that used to be on repeat, that used to play throughout your house, your car, your shower walls? The ones that got stuck in your throat, glued to your mind? If you heard them again now, would you love them the same? After a month? After a year? After many?

I don’t want to be one of your favorite songs that are no longer..


but maybe it is what it is.

us humans are like seasons.


But baby, I wanted to be your holiday.