I am not a domestic person. I don’t like routine. I never wanted to get married, and don’t really want to ever again. I don’t care about owning a house, with all of its house problems.
But for you I would.
I want to write you poems and read them to you on our sun porch. I want to read other writers’ works to you, and make my voice have that drawl you like. If you cook for us, I’ll do the dishes. Halfway through each we can decide it’s too boring and take delight in each other instead.
I want to draw or paint you (badly I am sure) and have you say it’s a stunning likeness. I want to hear your poems and songs. I want to listen to you talk about anything, because your voice is like a cleverly picked bass guitar.
I want to cheer you on at competition, or even watch you practice, and kiss your sweaty face after. We can make breakfast for dinner and watch bad movies, or watch each other write. We can find a little coffeeshop we like and make friends with the other regulars.
We can go for walks in the park, and hold hands and stare into each others eyes like we always do. I want to be there when you get home from work, waiting with brownies I baked (surprise!) and wearing only a smile. When I come home from work I’ll bring you wildflowers and joy.
I want to sit next to you on the couch and knit while we watch crazy horror movies. Then you’ve suddenly put your hand in my shirt and everything else seems a whole lot less interesting. I want to go to museums with you, and we can come up with snobby comments about pieces we don’t like.
I want to see the neighborhoods where you grew up, show you mine, and we can share childhood stories. I want to have picnics in the park on a little plaid blanket, and we can play in each others hair like monkeys. I want us to be each others solace. I want to love you every day, and for always.
Love always, Me