Thinking of You

I'm thinking of you, are you thinking of me? Are you thinking of the day we first met? I am. It was so many years ago. It was cold for that time of year and I'd been stupid enough to leave my jacket at home. When I bumped into you at the coffee shop, I was sure you would be mad, but you weren't. Your eyes, the same captivating shade of blue as the forget-me-nots sitting in my windowsill, showed no malice, only kindness. You offered me your jacket and paid for my coffee and we sat in the corner booth just talking for what seemed like hours. By the time I left, still wearing your jacket and with your phone number on a piece of paper in my pocket, I felt like I'd known you for years.

I'm thinking of you, are you thinking of me?

I wonder, are you thinking of our first date? I remember how you were more nervous than I was, which said a lot since I was always nervous. You looked so handsome when you picked me up. Not that you didn't always look handsome. Our date wasn't anything extraordinary, just a movie. I can't even remember what we saw. But I do remember that afterwards you walked me to my door and then you kissed me. You kissed me and when you pulled away I saw that you were blushing, which was so unlike you.

I'm thinking of you, are you thinking of me?

I'm sure you're thinking of the time we first realized that we were in love. I am still, even after everything. I was grumpy that morning, even though you were cooking pancakes. I'm thinking about how you pulled me to my feet, wrapping an arm around my waist as we started to sway. You hummed a song I didn't recognize and as we danced next to your refrigerator I suddenly thought about how I never wanted to leave your arms and it was that exactly moment that I realized I was deeply in love with you. You were probably thinking the same thing because you pulled me closer and into my ear you whispered out loud that you loved me.

I'm thinking of you, are you thinking of me?

Are you thinking of me now, as you sit on our bed with my picture clutched in your hand, tears running down your cheeks? I am. I'm thinking of how you always hated to cry, even though I told you that it was alright. I wouldn't judge you. I'm sure you're thinking of the time you just spent in the waiting room at the hospital, eyes trained at the clock as you waited for news, any news. I'm sure you're reliving over and over the moment the doctor came out, his face solemn, and told you that they'd done all they could but it was no use.

I wish you didn't have to think of these things. If the choice was mine you wouldn't have to and neither would I, because I would still be with you, creating more memories for the two of us to think of together. I'm thinking of how I wish I could hold you one more time, thinking of how I just want to see you, and I hope you're thinking the same of me.

I'm always thinking of you. And I wonder, are you thinking of me, Jimmy?