Sunday, March 7, 2010

whitman and driftwood

We'll get the little bungalow you want, with a wrap-around porch that reminds you of the house you grew up in. We'll teach our kids about music the way your parents taught you. I agree that investing money in fancy dishes is silly; I'd rather drink out of mason jars. And on the balmiest nights in summer we'll light a citronella candle and sit on the porch and drink lemonade, or wine, and talk about our days. We'll have white linen sheets and a bed frame made out of really old driftwood. We won't have too much, because I know you hate being tied down. We will have a really tall bookshelf though, and you will have the time to read your list of books. I'll never get mad when you wake me up in the middle of the night because you can't sleep. I won't get mad. If you aren't sleeping I don't want to be either. We can stay up and talk about Jack Kerouac or Walt Whitman or Pablo Neruda. I know how much you love talking about them. You can tell me all the things that are keeping you up, because I really want to hear them. I see a meteor shower in your iris whenever you look at me, and I'll be glad you woke me up so I could watch it.

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