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One day we will run away.
We will save enough money to leave everything behind and move to Japan. You are always intrigued by these peculiar ideas of mine and never, not even once, did you say it was weird. Heck, you entertain every possibility and act as if you will forever be my partner in crime. The one who held my hand while pushing me to dip my toes in hell fire only to taste it—for the sake of curiosity, for the sake of growth. And when I get burnt, you will flash that charming smile of yours while dabbing ointment on my wound and ask: What does it feel like?
One day we will run away.
We will pick the most secluded house in the neighborhood, and make it our home. We will grow every kind of flower and vegetable, but we will despise the mosquitoes and insects that follow them. We shall never see concrete and drab blocks again; the city offers a lot too much and we had enough. We'll go for morning walks (yeah, you're the one who wakes me up now) and breathe in the air as deeply as we can, as if it were our first morning all over again. We’ll see greens, and browns, and the color of you—shining through. (Did you know it is so hard to look away?)
One day we will run away.
We will raise two kittens, and they will grow old with us. You said you have no favorites, but claimed the calico one is the smartest (and proceeded to smother her with kisses). We will get the finest produce from the market, stock your favorite pudding, and try out new dishes every day. I will bake every Saturday and let the air smell like sugar, then share a dozen or two with the neighbors on the way to our weekly picnics. You always say: it's photosynthesizing time!, as if we don't get enough sunlight exposure after those early gardening excursions. But the way you close your eyes and let the sun shine upon you—was just magical. (And I might stare a tad bit too long.)
One day we will run away.
We'll get two identical armchairs, and lounge by the fireplace on cold nights—with books on our laps and scorching hot tea on the side. Stolen glances, cat scratches, and crackles of the fire in between pages as the night deepened, and when the yawns can no longer be held in, you will quietly stand up and prepare the bed. We will lay on our futon, the room lit solely by the glow of our garden lights. Without any thoughts, we will face each other, and once again, I will see your slightly dimmed face smiling, before you lean closer and press a kiss on my lips. And as the world darkens, we'll both drift off into sleep—fingers intertwined and slower breaths, wishing each other a sweet dream; and to fall in love again in the morning.
One day we will run away—but today I will come home to you, Lee Minho.