if my heart could speak…

i want a house.

a simple one.

that we call our own.

with a red mailbox.

“The Thompsons” painted on the side.

i want a garden of wildflowers that i planted on purpose.

peonies, lavender, and lazy susans as tall as i.

with morning glories climbing the brick chimney.

i want a small kitchen that smells of cut tomato and fresh basil.

 a small kitchen… with a big window.

with wood panelling that opens outward. 

i want a livingroom of furniture worn and weathered from yesterday’s memories.

a fireplace.

layered and dusted with ash.

i want a bedroom that never changes.

where our babies are made.

babies.

i want bookcases of all our favorites.

years old.

i want a growth chart for my little ones.

maybe we’ll have just boys.

and they’ll grow to the ceiling.

i want to have a wall.

for just my little one’s art.

framed and displayed with importance.

i want a red door.

with a knocker.

i want grass that he rarely cuts.

so it will grow tall.

i want a wood swing attached to a tall wood with our initials carved to.

g + g

in a heart with an arrow thru.

i want this for when i am old.

for when i am old, my baby is grown, and this house is quiet..

i want to walk thru this kitchen and remember the morning yawns of my little one,

i want to lean into my livingroom chair and remember the stories i read to him

over and over,

i want to sit and look at the christmas tree and remember his excitement,

i want to walk past his room and just stare, lay in his childhood bed, hold Blue Bear close, thank him for loving my boy,

i want to touch every framed work of art and remember the day he brought it home proud.

i want to slumber in the bed where me and my soulmate rest and remember the love we shared there.

when my bones dont work, my sight is drifting, my mind is fleeting,

i want my home.

my home laced and drenched in our life.

our home whispering its memories to me.

i want this.

more than it hurts to dream it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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