“aquarius, you have fallen in love with the storm again,”
the august horoscope reads.
it is almost—but not quite—correct.
for the sake of astrological accuracy
it might be revised to read,
“aquarius, you have fallen
in love—” (this part
“—aquarius, you have fallen in love
in the sticky heat of summer,
the air as damp as your skin,
heat rising from the tarmac
of this flat swamp town.”
or perhaps, “aquarius,
it will not feel like a storm.
there will be no lightning bolts,
no thunder. there will be no fire
under your skin.”
“aquarius, your love will be slow and soft.
it will be the sound of leaves rustling and pages turning,
of songs sung quietly in a dark bedroom, of cell phones ringing
at the most inopportune moment.
it will be the smell of dinner cooking. aquarius,
will be his body pressed against yours
as you sit on the kitchen counter at 2am
quietly drinking tea, and
it will be losing at trivial pursuit in a crowded bar at midnight
while he drunkenly gives you hints, and
it will be homemade tiramisu for breakfast in bed, and
it will be huddling together under a tiny umbrella while
back to the future plays on the big screen outside one rainy night, and
“aquarius, there is no such thing as love at first sight,
but you will like him instantly,
this stranger on the metro platform.
there is no such thing as love at first sight, but he will make you smile
there is no such thing
as love at first sight, but for a moment,
when he speaks to you,
the crowds will fade into the background
and it will be a train station of two,
him and you,
and the rain will be thundering down outside,
and you will know you want to be with him
because you still can’t stop smiling
the whole way home.”
“aquarius, at midnight you will be approached
by a random drunk guy on the red line.
he will give you his number.
make sure you text him back.”