It's cold out but I want to lean over the side of my bed to grab my flannel pants and slide them on to keep me warm for the drive. For my drive to the airport. I would leave a note for Ma to tell her it was desperate times and desperate measures. I would go to the airport, with my flannel pants, my mobile diary, and my heavy hanging shoulders with my droopy tired eyes. I would board my plane, eat my peanuts and, since it's Thursday and Thanksgiving is a weeks past, spread myself out across the row of emptied seats to wake up in the snow of Denver. Their I would board a bus for my 45 minute adventure to Boulder. Their we would meet, you with your Audrey Hepburn hair and perfect pale smile a cup of coffee in your left hand and a cup of cocoa in your right. Me with my flannel pajamas and oversized jacket with nothing to offer except for my presence. We wouldn't say much just give some hugs in the dead of Colorados bitter beautiful nights, before heading to where you call home to cuddle and hide from the rest of winter.
