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2009-06-18 - 4:00 a.m.

I will wait for the moment when the thunder is so close it pushes through the trees and through the walls and into us. I will wait for the rain to hit the windows and the lights to flicker off, on, off for good. I will wait for the lightning to strike and shine on your smile, that dimple, your hands.

I will wait for the moment during an early summer night before the humidity with the windows open. I will wait for the sweet tea on a coaster, condensation on the glass that you wipe away with a long finger. I will wait for the cicadas in the background as you laugh, as you moan.

I will wait for the tautness of your skin over your shoulder blades, for the strength in your arms, for the depth of your inhalation, for the sweetness of your exhalation.

I will wait for the fall, for the changing of the leaves, of the fruity pebble colors of the landscape that turn into winter, for the light snow that drapes the cotton fields. I will wait for quiet car rides between rows of frosted oatmeal cookies as you sing quietly next to me, your hand on mine, tracing staccato patterns, as the wheels hum.

I will wait for your head on my stomach, your hair beneath my palm, the clouds above us, my great grandmother's quilt below us.

I will wait for the sold out show at that club. I will wait for you, in front of me, back pressing into my front, crowded into me, excited and dancing. I will wait for your hand grabbing my arm, pulling me, looking back at me, smiling with your eyes lit up from deep within.

I will wait for early Sunday mornings, waking up slowly, your hair messy, your fingers moving, the softness only girls like you are allowed to have, teeth and nails, hearts and hands, the way you will curl onto me and fall back asleep.

I will wait for the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen.

I will wait for paint on your arms.

I will wait for the silence of Thursday nights before we fall asleep, your body touching me as much as possible, the smell of the jasmine bush I planted coming through the cracked window, the way my fingers feel against the coolness of your skin.

I will wait for vacation afternoons where we have drank too much. I will wait for your soft giggles that turn into loud belly laughs as your fingers fumble with my hair. I will wait for swearing to you I have never seen a woman as beautiful as you are, slurred, red faced, clumsy as you are because of the drink you say tastes like a Christmas tree. I will wait for foreheads knocking together. I will wait for the completely believed in belief that everything else has fallen away and all that could possibly have ever existed in my life was you. That that belief stays, drunk or sober. I will wait for the morning after, filled with water and tylenol and back rubs.

I will wait. If you want me to.

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