What If Ten Years from Now

What if ten years from now,
I run into you in a cafe?
My heart races and my palms sweat,
I am overwhelmed by everything
I wanted to say to you,
the worlds never make it to my tongue.
Your hair is longer than you've ever worn in before and you're vegan now.
But you still drink your coffee in gulps of three
and you still bite your lip when you're deep in thought or even when taking a picture
and your eyes still narrow down to slits when you smile.

What if ten years from now,
I run into you in a cafe?
I tell you that I have a drawer full of postcards
I wrote to you from every place I went to,
and that I've saved tickets from all our trip,
and that everyday for the last 10 years,
I've been sighing over my morning brew
because the coffee never makes me feel as heady
as the taste of your cappuccino stained lips
from that last breakfast before we said goodbye.

What if ten years from now,
I run into you in a cafe?
You say that you still dream of me sometimes,
that happiness is simply a kind of decision
and that no complication we'd ever come across
compares to that of not being with each other.

What if ten years from now,
I run into you in a cafe?
This time, would I ask you to stay?
And if I do,
Would you?

-Poetry and Postcards