Tell me there is a someday. A time when anything can happen, everything is possible, and limits are meaningless.
Tell me that one day the kids will be grown, the bills will be paid, the dogs will be dead, and freedom will finally ring.
Tell me you’ll travel the world with me, sipping exotic beverages in run-down bars, climbing mountains in Asia, and dreaming up new ways to experience the reality of foreign places.
Tell me we’ll leave it all behind. I’ll sit in a dusty cafe where no one speaks English, the coffee tastes like water, and the shelves are full of trinkets collected across years of life experience from the old couple that owns the place. I’ll type and feel and wonder and implode inwardly and you’ll stare out the window or maybe go to a museum or take pictures of the view.
Tell me the laundry won’t matter anymore, diapers won’t smell, and the dishes will only exist for two.
Tell me we’ll get a cheap place downtown – a simple home base – and we won’t stop until we’ve been everywhere. We’ll make new friends at cheap hostels, shepherd a few sheep, and ride the train until the end of the track.
Tell me you’ll fuck me under the warmth of a thousand different moons. That skin will know skin. That light will love darkness.
Tell me we’ll sleep under the stars, stay in a hut with no plumbing, wear a hijab, live on the ocean for a few days, get strange topical diseases, and never leave each other’s side until the next adventure begins.
Tell me it’s all possible. Tell me it exists. And, for gods sake, tell me you’ll live all of it with me.