picture me, laying out in the sun, small umbrella in my iced tea twirling my straw against the sweating glass your mother bought us as a souvenir , sunhat protecting my face from the rays that harm my face summer after summer. water beads at the bottoms of my legs and my hair drips salt. the smell of sunscreen reminds you of your happiest childhood memories.
picture me, counting the city lights, walking along the side walks lift as a balance beam. holding my heels in one hand, and yours in the other to keep me upright, after our night out we stop by a 24 hour diner, sharing shakes and fries, whispering across to each other in the booth, talking about peoples lives and why they ended up at this diner at this exact time, for some fate of sorts.
picture me, sleeping in bed, curled up into the fetal position as normal, blankets covering everything besides my nose up. hands cupped under my head, slightly mumbling something that makes zero sense while my hair covers the entire pillow. nose slightly twitching like a bunny from the cold of the AC you control because you're as warm as the sun in your sleep, while I'm Antarctica’s child. my summer freckles that i’ve been working so hard for have finally peaked.
picture me, in a field covered in my favorite flowers, you laugh at the thought that I can't pick my favorite of anything, i like any flower i see. but I fell in love with an indian paintbrush from the memories it lassos into mind. I'm in a white dress, hands and fingers stretching towards the sun and all it makes. we nod at one another deciding we will worry about the allergies this trip will provide later on.
picture me, barefoot bruises from scattered trips back and forth from the moving truck from last week. peach colored paint covers my hands, painters tape between my teeth, you rub your thumb on my cheek, i realize you were rubbing away paint. i walk back and forth across the room we promised not to go too crazy on color with, the old wooden floor board creaks from under me, you promise you'll fix, but never do, i grow used to the creak and learn to love it. knowing the reason we moved into this house will be taking her first steps on these creaking floors.
picture me, hip to hip at our single sink, bubbly covered mouths from our tooth paste, we both gesture at the same time “go ahead.” with our hands and eyes, but not with our words. “no you,” i tell you with a nod, mumbling “gfo aphead” was my pronunciation through the bubbles. you lose the battle, rinse and repeat before i do.
picture me, out on our front porch, tapping my foot onto the floor every time i topple forward to keep a rhythmic pace because my legs are barely long enough to sit in your chair. humming to myself about something the neighbor had said while they passed a few minutes before. you've fallen in love with the wrinkles that fold inside themselves on my face. not the kind of love where you had to learn, but the kind where you loved just because my face was the one to contain them.
picture me, mixing a surprise cake batter for our little one, it’s late at night to keep the hushed secret. you come behind me and take my hands, you spin me, we dance on the creaking floor boards, the only light that’s on is above us, you take the blue cake covered spatula and cover nose, in excuse to kiss my face. we giggle and whisper with one another. our little one peaks his head around the corner, dinosaur footie pajamas, blanket in one small fist, and other running his almost closed eyes, he asks what we were doing, you hush with a finger to your lips and assure him we were just discussing about the bills we had to pay, knowing he wouldn't ask any further questions. you carry him off to his room and tuck him in, whispering “goodnight” before leaving his door slightly cracked to keep the monsters out.
Thursday, June 8th, 2017 11:06 PM