I want that. I want to be with you.
You, plugging away at a pile of words for your one of many books, and I want you to hear the keys jingle.
I want you to not look up because you know it’s me and you already have my smile committed to memory. I’ll come over and nudge your shoulder but not say a word because you’re in a zone that is not to be disturbed.
I will have ordered the largest cup of what you love when you write. I will get my own project and sit across from you until we, both defeated by our work, look into each other’s eyes. We’ll sit for a moment and simultaneously say we are hungry. We’ll go to the kitchen and make pesto or something else Italian. Your favorite.
We’ll eat and talk and laugh. Swim in each other’s words. We’ll hold hands on our way to the back room, your palm under mine, then we’ll lie in bed because every day doesn’t have to be extraordinary but every day must be one we are together in.
I want that.