I think of a Maybe Someday, and it looks like late spring. Sunny and warm enough but not too hot. A breeze that you can’t even notice, but that keeps you comfortable. Everything is easy like that. It looks like a lake, probably one that you know well.
Maybe Someday is distant, but not unimaginable. In fact, it’s so believable that it hurts a little. Close yet far, in a way. Funny to think the distance would be measured in earthquakes.
Maybe Someday is blended. It’s this inevitable crash landing in the middle after some flames burn out on the ends. Maybe Someday is that place we finally get to go when the universe says, “oops, I fucked up – let’s try this whole thing again.” And maybe Maybe Someday is all in my head, but shit man, it’s beautiful.
Maybe Someday looks like a late spring day at the lake.
Like we just tag teamed a myriad of birthdays and finally wrapped up with your own. Kids everywhere: yours, mine, and maybe even ours. Dogs fill in the spaces between kids, and grandparents sit on the perimeter to allow us a moment to be with ourselves.
You look at me, much like you do in Right Now, with an eyebrow cocked and two million questions bubbling under the surface. I reach for your waist rather than answer. Your touch, however innocent, feels like home.
Your Carolina eyes and those incredible shoulders still tease me. Everything that always has captured my attention holds it captive still, and it’s still a rush to get caught looking. It’s kind of trademark to still say it all without a word when we need to. I lean into you and feel everything I’d never been allowed to know before.
Maybe Someday is for survivors. It’s for the versions of us that might make it out with just enough faith left to jump in again. It’s the hope and the itch and the want and the urge to know you better. It’s been my best push toward tomorrow.
Maybe Someday is a late spring day at the lake. Kids everywhere – yours, mine, and ours – and dogs fill the spaces in between.