Sun It Rises

I can tell you the way it'll work out.

I want summer breezes through four open car windows. Slushies, ice cream, craft beers on bikes, fancy cocktails when we decide we need a dressed-up night. Jazz at Brown Palace, dancing at Skylark, brunch at Racine's.

Camping in the heat but we still don't let go of each other. I'll think I hear a bear and you'll cuddle me til I fall asleep. We'll watch the stars and I'll point out what I remember from high school astronomy.

We'll get lost in each other's words and attempt to comprehend the recesses of the other person's equally complicated mind. We'll marvel at how we're the same and yet so very different. We'll discuss politics, the suburbs, where we want to vacation next.

It'll be my hand in yours through rain in Seattle, on a boat in Maine, on a country porch in Texas, sipping sweet tea and enjoying the simplicity of the moment and life's wild ups and downs, like the back and forth of the porch swing.

It'll be rock concerts with happy endings, the piles of earplugs on the table when we get home and we'll laugh at how fucking old we are. Then we'll retreat to the bedroom and prove ourselves wrong.