Its Thursday and I check my phone for the weather before I leave,

So it can decide whether

I'm wearing my rain boots or my sneakers instead.

 

It makes me grumble all the way to my chemistry class,

The bottoms of my jeans coated with dirty water from puddles

That seem to appear everywhere I take a step,

 

All to sit down in a class with hundreds of other students,

Just to learn about boring things,

Like the chemical composition of rain.

 

My phone screen gets excessively familiar with my fingertips on Thursdays,

But it doesn't complain, doesn't light up even when I stop,

As though hiding incoming texts because of my impatience.

 

I trudge through the day, my mind accumulating with equations of tangent lines and derivatives,

But I let the information wash over me, and I take it in little by little,

Only because of the promise of spending the afternoon on the bus.

 

Just like the Thursday schedule, it arrives at 3:30,

And I get on, my ORCA card digging painfully into the cold palm of my hand,

My playlist dedicated to you blaring loudly in my ears.

 

The bus driver recognizes me, throws me a smile,

His expression always the same,

An attempt to hide the surprise at my determination.

 

I think maybe this time I'll finally notice the cute little diner that everyone is always talking about,

Or maybe I'll finally remember the face of the person sitting next to me,

Or even realize that the signs that line the stretch between Stevens'and Broadway are misspelled.

 

For some weird reason, my mind can't focus on anything else but you,

And before I know it, the warmth that had just engulfed me vanishes and I'm off the bus,

And my nose is as red as Rudolph's, even though it's not the Thursday before Christmas.

 

I'm searching for the spark to ignite my fire, and I follow the tops of the huge oak trees,

The orange and red leaves poking out over the contrasting gray buildings,

Giving me the answers I'm searching for.

 

You're barely three inches tall from where I stand, but your warmth reaches everywhere,

Like the sun rising on the savannah of a far off land,

It wraps me in a soft ball of light, better than any sweater I've ever owned.

 

The leaves are shivering by themselves now, because your gaze has already met mine from afar,

Your hair falling on one side of your face, the wisps swaying gracefully in the cold,

One leg crossed over the other, shoulder pressing into the hard bark. 

 

And even after all these Thursdays, even from such a distance,

I can already feel the indents on your skin, I'm dreaming of being enveloped in your gentle touch,

All I need to do is follow you.

 

I pick up my pace, and I'm sprinting,

Completely disregarding the wet grass tickling my ankles,

And my heart's already ripping at the seams before you've even touched me.

 

Your fingers slip into mine, your face split in a huge smile, 

And there's a fire between us that roars louder

And glows brighter than any bonfire I've ever seen.

 

It's enough to keep me going for another week, until next Thursday because

It doesn't matter if the forecast predicts rain or snow or even a hurricane, 

When I'm with you, all I can feel is the sun.

 

~for the brightest angel in my life,

love,

your favorite hunter.