You’re sitting across from me and I can see the light of the candle flicker every second across the shadows of your face and it’s framing you in such a way that I can’t help but resist. But I must. You see I live for the nights where we play soft tunes of piano as we eat take out Chinese and contemplate the meaning of life over scripted fortunes broken from cookies that bring sweetness to our mouths, just like kisses do. I live for the moments you lace your fingers ever so slightly between mine, I live for the sparks of electricity it sends rippling through my veins. You see every time you lift a needle off a record and let it play one more time around or when you open a window because it’s cold and you want to “hear the sound of people living” as you say or when you flick a switch and say who needs light bulbs anyway, I fall a little more in love with you. And you’re still sitting across from me staring at me the same way you stare at the cosmos because it’s so vast and you don’t know what’s out there. Maybe that’s how you feel about me. Beautiful but endless, endless to learn about, difficult to figure out. And that’s the best feeling in the world, to be seen as a breath taking mystery. When I look at you I see every art piece I could never afford, every wildflower that grows out of concrete, and every streak of light that peaks through sky scraping buildings. You are a masterpiece I hang from a distance to admire. And I want to touch you, but I know I shouldn’t because to do so would be to become vulnerable and risk damaging years worth of painting. So you’re still sitting across from me in all your candle flickering beauty and the words I love you are itching at my lips. Begging to be set free. But they won’t roll off my tongue like the fortunes we share, so instead I’ll look out the window and say, baby, come here, and kiss my lips.