A New Picture of You

A bright, morning light is gently coursing through the kitchen windows of a house that is surely yours.  The walls are country yellow, a sign that home is being made. The situation feels unwanted, but duly accepted. You are sitting at a blond, maple table, sipping a cup of tea.  Across from you is a young, sophisticated man twirling a pen across his fingers, contemplating what to write about you.  Both of you are relaxed and slouching just a bit with your right legs crossed over lefts.

As we enter our tenth year of friendship, this is the new picture of you in my head.  When I think of you, I no longer picture our sweet days pounding the life out of pianos in barely breathable practice rooms.  I no longer see us falling to the floor of an old chapel in fits of “I give up on this” laughter.  I don’t see my too-complicated gesturing ruining your shirt with the coffee I forgot I was holding.

I don’t get jealous of your uncanny, unexpected fashion sense.  I do not see that you have lost more weight than I since college.  (Nor does that fact upset me.) I no longer shake my head at your eccentricities.  I don’t picture wild hair or sweatpants.

I see you sleek and quiet–more of a mystery than ever.  And I see myself diving into you to figure you out all over again.  After nine full years, I no longer see the past or the present; I see the future.  Here’s to us.