An image stands still before me, crystal clear, you and i lay close in an unmade bed with white sheets, our skin wrinkled yet our lost eyes reveal the same love we were drowning in when we were sixteen and naïve. An image so detailed, so lucid, only reminds me just how sure i am that there’s no one i’d rather wake up next to every single day for fifty years in a row. There’s no one i’d rather hold and be held by, love unconditionally and fuck endlessly. There’s no one i’d rather ditch parties with only to come home and lay in our underwear all night. There’s no one i’d rather grow with, and there’s no one’s lips i’d rather think about kissing while i wait to come home. Because its you, its you, its always been you, since the day i awoke to realize that no wedge could ever be big enough to bridge a gap between us and fifty years from now, i can’t wait to hold this picture in my hands.
Disha Ahluwalia, ITS YOU













