Sometimes I think if we were together. If I’d offered more engaging conversation when we met for coffee. I had sipped and scanned the pages of a Ray Bradbury book as I waited in the sun. You were late. I became nervous. Sometimes I still think if I’d been more outgoing. I still think about embracing you, and meeting your witty friends, and dropping into dark bars. If we were together I would treat you like the gem you are. You are not a diamond, which is too flashy, and uses its beauty to its advantage. You are more of a warm and glowing topaz. There would be no morning you’d awaken without me in the kitchen, brewing fresh coffee, flipping blueberry pancakes, and singing to The Avett Brothers. I’d rouse you with gentle kisses on the forehead that slowly turn into more urgent kisses as I slide back under the duvet. Every morning would be sunshine. I would read your poems and nod, tracing line after line so I could feel your words pulse against my skin. Some of your nonfiction would allow my tears to escape. I could be quiet. I would respect your schedule. You would come home from work to find me hunched over a book, or some other form of paper. Doing my own work. You would leave me sticky notes to discover throughout the day when you were gone: in the bathroom sink, on the laundry, beneath the cat. Wine tonight? We’d drink giddy together, and wander twilight streets to a park to watch the sun set. On lazy weekend afternoons, we’d lounge on the bedroom floor, poring over my photographs. I would tell you the story of my life, slowly. You would listen calmly, wise as usual. A rock in the storm. Though I think this, I wonder if we were together, I know we aren’t and won’t be. I was timid and confused. Still confused. Just know, wherever you are, you are such a gorgeous gem of a woman.