I would love you the way freckles love to leave footprints across the sidewalks of your cheekbones. The smell of smoke after all the fireworks have gone off. The way the ocean ripples after a seagull's feet have skimmed the surface. But I will love you for the full plunge, headfirst, into claustrophobic city streets and broken elevators with all the buttons glowing at once. I will gladly walk up seventeen flights of stairs to tell you how beautiful you are. And when you open your door, pajamas inside-out, eyelashes bathed deep in the swirling steam of sleep, I will spell your name in sunlight. I will color your windowsill with the mismatched block letters of magazines. I will spend my whole life searching for the right words to say how it feels to have finally, finally found you. I will whisper, Après la pluie le beau temps.

After the rain, the nice weather.