dreams of a little white house surrounded by tall trees. walls of white and blue-gray. hydrangeas all throughout the house. windows open, a cool breeze drifting through. the smell of a cherry pie baking, and motown music praying. a pup at my feet, a bottle of wine on the counter. overstuffed couches and warm blankets. a kitchen window that faces the driveway so i can watch for you to pull in. the quiet slam of the screen door, your face and arms, and bliss.
It’s you. It’ll be you when you piss me off and make me want to scream until my throat is sore. It’ll be you when I’m drunk and don’t remember where I am. It’ll be you when I’m 80 and my hair is gray. It is always going to be you. You are it for me. You are the one. You are the only one.