Graphic by Sarah McCrimmon
Our faces turn towards each other while we sleep like flowers that bend to follow the sun. A bird chirps on the fire escape outside. It’s morning, and sleep is thin. It could be February, or August or November. When I open my eyes that’s the first thing that I think about How time seems to pass in circles How we seem to come and go in waves I know you don’t believe in fate But I do And you roll your eyes When I tell you that déjà vu Means we are where we’re supposed to be But I mean it. Because every time I’m here with you I feel like I’ve been here before And I’ll be here again And again And again The thought soothes, but it also stings That for better or for worse It’s meant to be.