I like the idea of waking up with soft sunlight, in a silent room.
White bed-sheets and clean skin. A cup of water. Some orange juice.
Fingers sticky with the ink from the newspaper tossed to my front step.
I like the idea of childhood fantasies.
Cereal for dinner and pillow forts.
I like not forgetting to brush my teeth before bed.
Sometimes I like when it rains but when it rains too much I like it when the sun comes out.
And when you lay out in the grass and, sticky green, covered in it and the heat.
I like playing cards and holding them all in your fingers, somehow, you learned that.
I like printers, inking words you’ve pulled out like magic, making them permanent.
I like the idea of writing a book that isn’t in any proper order.
Like life, you read it backwards and upside down with last thoughts crammed in and stapled.
I like photographs with worn edges and books with the cover torn off.
I like the smell of novels buried in the back rooms of a bookstore, books someone used to love.
I like black and white episodes of I Love Lucy curled up in makeshift beds on the floor.
I like falling asleep curled up into the perfect shape – click.
I like waking up in the middle of the night if you’re there.
I like taking one single moment in the dark to feel your skin against my skin and remember.
That all of the little moments are what make up these little fantasies.