fantasia

 The sound of the record cracking at the back of her voice carries me beyond. Into a tiny wooden cabin in the woods, where coffee brews and the floor cracks when we walk. Cheek to cheek and we pause for a dance in the living room, sliding through the floor with our cute matching socks. It's not cold, but it is one of those days of early fall when the air gets more crispy in the morning. It's all still green. Our love isn't exactly green at this point but we make sure to keep the fireplace going. There's peace, and there's this. Bliss. In the mornings we share coffee, at noon we walk the tracks, at night we cook and drink wine. We read to each other and you practically only read me poetry. I love it because it is yours. I tell you countless facts about random things and you will remember that sometimes I am too much. But not for you. I amuse you. The work is light, the work is love. Stil trying to make the world a bit better. You travel a lot still. I work less as I have earned my ears but I write, I do comedy, I teach and I still create stuff to help people. We both worked hard to get here. It seems only at this point we could be together, and it took so long. Summertime after summertime. We watched each other from afar. Until we found it. This one space of time where we live suspended by oak and rain and coffee. You and me. Our little cottage in our little world. I'll be looking at the moon but I'll be doing it with you. In every summer day, I'll find you.