a tiny apartment for two, in a big city full of lights and luck. we can share things. pizza. a bed. cuddles. goodnight kisses. i’ll make you tea every evening, and serve you the newspaper every morning. sunday mornings spent in bed are my favorite, pancakes with extra syrup, coffee with extra cream. you hate coffee. i need it. rainy mornings rushing to work, i’ll give you a kiss on the cheek to keep with you through the day. open your lunch box, baby, there’s a surprise inside. a note that’s scribbled in bad handwriting, “i love you, more.” friday nights in, old films and dusty records we pull out of boxes. we can dance around the moonlight to songs of our childhood. long car rides, shoulder kisses and sweaty palms. waking up the neighbors downstairs. i’ll kick you out on the couch, just to wake you up in the middle of the night. come back to bed. i’ll read you my poems in a sleepy daze. the little things, they’re all i want. with you. only with you.

And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself.

Once I stop caring you’re not getting it back. I’ll be cold as ice, I promise.