little fantasies

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.


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