I see you, buried in responsibilities, the weight of the world furrowing your brow and resting deeply in your frown.
I see how hard you work to pay for the life you want to provide and to fulfill someone else’s version of success. I see how it buries your spirit and creates a fog around dreams and desires that I know are locked away inside that busy head of yours.
Look up! There’s a world I want to share with you.
I want to sail alongside dolphins to quiet beaches where we’ll drench our bodies in sunlight, then lay under the stars until morning appears. I want to feed you juicy mangos and freshly picked pineapples and feel you kiss each one of my sticky fingers. I want to taste the sweetness of your lips.
I want to travel to villages where harmattan winds fill our hair with earthy dust. I want to sit in circles with chiefs, drinking gin and making plans, then lay my head on your shoulder as drums’ rhythms lull us to sleep beneath our mosquito net.
I want to lounge in coffee houses, listening to poetry and acoustic guitars, talking about life and solving world problems. I want to feel you get angry about poverty and injustice and get excited about doing something about it. I want to attend rallies for peace and equality and feel passionate about other human beings.
I want to backpack through Europe and share hostels with strangers while we live of cheap wine and cheese and rich, dark bread. I want to board trains and giggle at private jokes as we venture to strange and new places. I want to treat life like a scavenger hunt with only dog-eared guidebooks and our own scrappiness to get us through.
I want you to hold me as clouds roll across summer skies and dance in the rain to songs only we can hear. I want to be swept in a waltz as drops run in small streams down our noses and cheeks. I want to laugh as we spin in circles and fall in a heap on the muddy ground and feel your shirt wet against your chest. I want to feel your breath when your lips touch my wet skin.
I want to let the years pass without acknowledging how old we are getting and let our faces fill with lines and wrinkles left behind by sunshine and smiles and memories.
I want to live. To really live.
With you. Always.
Author: Amanda Christmann
Editor: Katarina Tavčar
Photo: Jon Lebkowsky/Flickr