Fifty percent was
wondering what would become of us
and what you might mean to me.
Sixty percent was
craving your touch
and sitting across from
what felt too good to be true.
Sixty percent was
the comfort of my hand in yours.
Seventy percent was
watching you parallel park,
wine-soaked kisses through bad movies,
and falling asleep next to you.
Seventy percent was
the beginning of safety.
Eighty percent was
eager to see you.
Eighty percent was
Italian dinner filled with
hopeful discussions and dreaming.
Eighty percent was
smiling on the way home
and you knowing what it meant.
Eighty percent was
falling for you.
Ninety percent was
shuffling through cards of intimacy,
growing closer to you with each word.
Ninety percent was
falling asleep next to you.
Ninety percent was
sleeping next to you.
Ninety percent was
waking up next to you.
Ninety percent was
something I could get used to.
One hundred percent
never came.
One hundred percent
would have been my,
“I want to be yours.
I want you to be mine.”
One hundred percent
would have been a first kiss
after planes and distance and time.
One hundred percent
may have been your,
“Stay as long as you need.”
It may have been my,
“Then I will never leave.”
Maybe our one hundred percent
happened after all this time.