Twenty One Fifteen
In 2115, we will fall in love.
I will approach you at a friend’s party,
or by a painting in some museum,
in a chain coffee shop,
or a subway platform,
the produce aisle of the supermarket,
the fiction section of a book store,
or the campus cafeteria.
I will vaguely resemble some TV heartthrob,
a pop musician
or star athlete,
perhaps a beloved teacher,
a charismatic politician,
the pastor of your church,
your best friend’s brother,
or a childhood crush, even;
and you won’t be astonished –
or startled.
We’d grow fond of each
other within a few dates:
our mutual attraction would firm
over the course of cooking class;
during the walk through the park
a soulful, effortless conversation would bloom;
and in the hush of the theater
we would clasp hands, hear our breaths
and feel the hum of each’s body;
soon we would share our first night,
and in the nearness of dark sense
we might have been destined for union.
We will discover the numerous things
we have in common. For instance:
we like the same sit-coms and serial dramas;
you love small dogs and I have a Terrier;
you have two brothers and I have two sisters;
your dad was a fireman — mine a policeman;
your first kiss was in junior high — mine too;
we’re just middle of the road politically
and are bewildered by passionate views.
But you’ll also be drawn to my uniqueness:
you’ll like that I eat cold pizza, though it repulses you;
I drive faster when my favorite songs are on;
I smile readily, and like eating with my hands;
I usually burp a little on the first gulp of pop;
my brows grow uneven when fibbing;
I have a do-gooder streak;
I’m physical yet surprisingly heady at times;
and we are exteriorly so different.
You will sense that I’d really
hit it off with your parents
when we fall in love in 2115.
Photograph by JUN HUA EA
