By Yosh
in eight grade when you handed me a sheet of paper with serrated edges
and the impression of chemistry notes still visible on its surface
unfolding six folds that never met at the corners
i saw scribbled across the paper
numbers in ascending order
two years
731 days
17544 hours
and 1052640 minutes
the precision within your characteristic scribbles
made me wonder why you stopped there
because i wasn't ready for the numbers to stop increasing
and even after 6 years every second adds a little something
because every year is made up of weeks
spent waiting for your exams to get over so we could be together for a few hours
and ever hour is made up of minutes
in traffic that seem to disappear when the music on the radio is a reminder of insisting to drop you home
even when you swore it's just two kilometres
and every minute is made up of seconds within which you respond
of seconds within which i predict your replies before you respond
and every second is made up of moments that seem infinitesimally small
of moments that seem infinitesimally long
who says time travel doesn't exist
every i love you takes me back to the first time you said it
to the first time i said it
without knowing what it meant
but knowing what it meant
was not necessary to know
to fall in love with you
so after these next few months
when the hands on our clocks don't follow the same paths anymore
when your minutes won't match my seconds anymore
will they still be made up of enough love
to twist into our own time zone
where the sun and moon meet across horizons
will my alarm still ring every evening to wake you up in the morning
will i learn to eat breakfast while you're cooking dinner
so we have at least one meal in a day together
will your sleepy arms still hold me closer when i'm crying at night
will you still be the first one to wish me happy birthday both times
will time still be playing on our side?
i don't know
but i don't think time passes for us like it does for everyone else
because time feels different when we're together
time feels slow
like the time you thought i was a dream when i surprised you at home
time feels soft
like the time i told you to propose to me inside a pillow fort
time tastes sweet and salty
like the time i cut my finger trying to bake cupcakes for you
time sounds like it has an accent
like the time you made me believe that the name of an italian football player meant i love you
and totti di natale maldini
might not mean i love you
but in the time that we've been together
i know that everything you've said to me
has meant i love you
and if language bent before us
who's to say time won't too?