Before the Fire Learns Our Names
that kicks the door in,
loud and reckless,
tracking mud across the floor
just to leave it behind when it gets bored.
I’ve seen that kind of fire before.
It burns like it’s trying to prove something
and dies the same way.
No…
I want the kind that
pulls up a chair without asking,
sits beside me like it’s always been there,
like it never needed an introduction.
I hope we become best friends first.
Not in that watered-down,
half-committed, “let’s see where this goes” way
people use when they’re afraid to mean something—
I mean real.
The kind where
I reach for my phone
and your name is already halfway dialed
before I even know why.
The kind where
nothing is planned,
but somehow we’ve built entire days
out of doing absolutely nothing.
I want to laugh with you
over shit that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else.
Build something stupid like Lego sets
and treat it like architecture.
Lose sleep on purpose
because the night feels too short
when you’re in it.
I want late drives with no destination,
just roads unfolding like thoughts
we don’t have to filter.
I want arguments behind closed doors
that sound like war
but end like understanding.
And when the world calls—
friends, noise, distractions,
whatever the hell is supposed to matter—
I want to look at you and think,
why would I go anywhere
you’re not?
Not because I need you to breathe—
but because everything feels a little more real
when you’re there to witness it.
I don’t want to fall for you
like gravity finally caught up.
I want it to feel like
we were already standing side by side
and one day we just noticed—
there was nowhere else
either of us was trying to be.
Love, to me,
isn’t when you become my world.
It’s when you become the place
I return to
without thinking.
Not out of habit.
Not out of fear.
But because somewhere along the way,
without the noise,
without the performance,
without the rush—
you became my best friend.
And everything else
just… followed.
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