N'importe quoi

“She could elevate anything you wrote — she dives in and cares deeply. You cannot have a superficial conversation with Sandra.”

Simon: Did you know?

Emily: I knew you had a secret. But when you were little you were so carefree. But these last few years more and more it’s almost like I can feel you holding your breath. I wanted to ask you about it, but I didn’t want to pry. Maybe I made a mistake.

Simon: No. No mom, you didn’t make a mistake.

I want to rise in love with pick-me-up hugs and side-splitting laughter.

I want to crawl into bed in love – a little early, sleepy, and gleeful – drunk on every syllable that comes from your lips.

I want to dance in love, my body pressed against yours, my head on your chest, my arms around your neck.

I want to cry in love at 2am when you hold all my broken pieces and kiss them one by one.

I want to skip in love, hand in hand down the sidewalk, covered in chalk and grass stains.

I want to snuggle in love on the couch watching whatever keeps me awake in your arms.

I want to sing in love, harmonizing with your silky smooth voice and my own loud slightly congested one.

I want to die in love with you by my side and let the angels carry our souls to nest in the clouds together.

I don’t want to fall in love.