I long for the day when you begin to lose yourself in my absence.

I long for the day when you lose your appetite because you cannot stomach our being apart, when you stop and take a hold of your composure because the street you passed by triggered one of the many fragments of our woven memories, knitted together perfectly. Perfectly lonely, they are. I long for the day when every lovey-dovey cliché there is, is accomplished by our tandem, me and you, walking through a cheesy-slash-corny part of the lover’s path, together, perfectly. Perfectly, we are; perfectly we are going to be.

I long for the day when the past would continue to retell our story to the future couples who would, in time, find each other and fall in love, madly, in a head-over-heels kind of way, just as we shall, in the distant (or sooner) future.