Almost always

The ferns crowd the trail, lush, green, and somehow smiling at me as my feet pick up speed at the thought of you at the end.
  There's faintly bits and snatches of a song playing.  I picture you leaning against the old refrigerator that hums along with the small radio.  Your taking off your high heels and pouring a glass of sweet wine, and I wonder, does my love and sweet thoughts of you proceed me? Do you even know that for me, this moment, walking and almost running towards you is what I was meant for?  That if the whole world disappeared, I wouldn't have a clue?
  As you absently turn the old fashioned dial on the radio and sing with the song that has never reminded you of me.