It would be nice to have a cute meeting story: I bought you a cup of coffee when you forgot your wallet and I was in line behind you at the coffee house; we wound up pressed against each other in the crowd at a rowdy rock show and were almost too shy to say "hello" despite our bodies being entangled in ways that could get me pregnant if not for clothes; we both were looking for the same book at the library; you were wearing gold spray-painted bowling shoes and I couldn't help but walk over and tell you how much I loved them.
In reality, it will be something less romantic. A friend's party. The internet. Your lackluster friend whom I dated before finding you, but oh how sordid that would be.
Work. We're statistically most likely to meet at work.
Maybe we'll be teaching abroad together. We'll fall in love in England the first year,
decide that we have a good thing going and should pursue it in Thailand the second year, pledge our hearts to one another in Brazil the third year.
You'll be some kind of artist, a writer, a musician, a sound technician, or a compassionate and wonderful person, because that's an extremely complex and unappreciated art. On rainy nights I'll sit across from you and write while you read or play music or draw or also write, occasionally pausing to watch some gorgeous branch of lightning spread across the sky, and it will be lovely.
Our Song, if such a concept is not too ridiculous, will be a little ridiculous, like either of the Pixies' Manta Ray songs or something death-metally with Satan in the title (or at least the chorus). We'll both like to go out dressed in silly clothes; you'll be in suspenders and a top hat, I'll wear a flapper's dress. If it's cold, you'll offer me your jacket because you're a gentleman, but I'll try to remember to bring a coat because I'd never, ever want you to be cold.
We'll fuck like the morning will never come. I'll teach you how to tie me up; you'll be the one who finally gets me to enjoy anal. Places we'll fuck: the beach, the park, empty subway cars, almost-empty subway cars, museums, rock shows, the opera, government buildings, closets, the kitchen, the kitchen counter, the kitchen table, the shower, my bed, your bed, eventually our bed. Your ability to growl, and I do mean growl, dirty things into my ear will drive me wild; you'll be partial to my mouth.
We'll be mouthy people anyway, and we'll never have trouble finding things to talk about. Your wit will make me laugh until I can't breathe, and mine will make you blush crimson. Silences will be warm and not awkward, and we'll always hold hands, or at the very least, we'll hold smiles.
Things won't be perfect between us. You'll be embarrassed when I curse out the guy who was rude to you at the bar, annoyed at my love for kitschy Americana like A Prairie Home Companion or 1920's delta blues, frustrated at how easily I'll burst into tears over things that aren't important to anyone but me. I'll wish you weren't compelled to provoke (and win) lengthy political debates with strangers whose opinions you overhear, that you would let me sleep when I'm tired, that you would stop eating junk food around me when I'm trying to lose weight, that you didn't partake in listening to techno. These are all problems we'll accept because we love each other and arguing about small things isn't worth it.
Should we get married, and as naive and idealistic as it is, I hope we will, you'll want a tiny, intimate ceremony; I'll want a bigger one with our friends and family present. We'll do both, first in an elopement in our travels to Andalusia or Costa Rica or Cambodia by an elderly sea captain with his wife and dog as our witnesses, then in a library courtyard in some place of mutual homestead in a more formal but still financially responsible ceremony. When all is said and done, I'll admit that your idea had been better, but we'll still have fun and sneak off to consummate the legality of our love against a bookshelf.
And I hope, I hope, I hope that, despite the aforementioned idealistic naivete, this will sound good to you as well if we cross paths someday.