The Hugs I Haven’t Forgotten.

When you left to tutor crazy first graders today,

You hugged me.

And as I patted your pastel purple shirt,

I uncovered memories.

When you fought rain drops and hopped home after that same Summer job yesterday,

You hugged me.

And as I snagged your sweaty red sweater, finally performing an act that I kiddingly waited for all day,

I found relief.

When you smoked bad actors a week ago after they sacked the scenes that you wrote,

You hugged me.

And as I pressed your stressed yet passionate black pullover,

I discovered beauty.

When you fled our last-minute lunch date to learn to write in Clark’s class months before,

You hugged me.

And as I brushed your lovely flowery Spring dress,

I unearthed serenity.

When you teetered onto the Ontario airport sidewalk for your Thanksgiving trip even longer ago,

You hugged me.

And as I squeezed the Wintry dirty jean jacket that you stole from me, praying for your safety,

I developed dependency.

When you ignored apartment cleaning chores to slow dance on your leafy balcony with me

Just before your trip,

You hugged me.

And as I gripped your gleaming baby Yoda sweatshirt under Fall trees and moonbeams,

We established belonging.

Finally,

When you drove me home

To my comedically tiny and somewhat slimy University apartment,

Concluding an October 30th day of producing essays, unwitty oneliners, and flirtatious faces,

You hugged me

For the first time.

And as I held you, an awesome angel rocking a glittery navy zip-up hoodie

And flare pants,

I felt my Destiny hugging me,

And

I loved it.