I want to camp with you.

I want to laugh at my dirty feet. Even though secretly you think it’s sexy.

I want to watch you build a fire that’s being too stubborn to light. You are frustrated, but secretly also a little embarrassed.

Secretly, I think it’s sexy.

I want to drink and laugh under the constellations and twilight of the moon where we laugh and get drunk on wine and whiskey and love.

Only the momentary interruptions when our fire shouts “POP” and excuses itself with a quick flirty ember dance that fades into the night sky.

I love the way tent zippers sound in the quiet of the night. I’ll probably forget to bring the right socks, so you will give me yours.

And my toes will still be a little cold in the night.

I want to look at your face in the early dawn through the glow of our nylon tent.

I want to breathe in the cool morning mountain air with you.

I want to watch you drink your coffee black with your tousled hair as you re-stoke the reminisce of our night fire’s embers.

I’ll look down at my still dirty toes and lean over my chair and grab the small stick I see and quietly draw a heart in the dirt.

Because I love camping with you.

 

 

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Editor: Renée Picard

Image: amalakar at Flickr