"… I knew my daughter waited for me there. So clear, I could feel her. I could feel a piece of my pop, too. It was like I was a part of everything that I ever loved, and we were all the 3 of us, just fadin’ out. And all I had to do was let go and I did. I said, “Darkness, yeah!” and I disappeared. But I could still feel her love there, even more than before. Nothing, there was nothing but that love. And I woke up."
I like texts in the morning,
(whether it’s ‘hey fucker’ or ‘rise and shine darling’)
I like public displays of affection,
and links to interesting articles on feminism.
I like unbridled honesty,
but please god don’t tell me your ex was prettier than me
I like sharing lipgloss,
resting with your head on my chest,
I like feeling useful,
I like a mean cup of tea and enough spare time
for three cups of coffee a day
and I’d like to make them for you
as much as you make them for me,
I like sharing things equally,
and talking of sharing, the thought of you in my denim jacket makes my stomach flip and I’d kill to see you wearing it, maybe it’s pathetic but I’d feel proud to see it on you about town and maybe it’s the inner American teen movie trope in me, but I can’t get that image out of my head, not now, not at all. It’s the cheerleader and the jock, the sports jacket and the varsity, except I’m not good at sports and I like it when I’m not expected to be.
I like it when I have my own life
and you have yours
and we meet somewhere in the middle,
without getting lost,
I like letters and notes and sentimentality,
I like when your handwriting can tell me
just how you felt with that line,
I like when you find my poetry interesting,
I like when you laugh at my ego.
I like it when you turn up at my door unexpectedly,
for no reason,
just to surprise me,
because you want to,
because you’ve had a bad week,
because it’s Monday,
because the bus fare was cheap,
and you’re wearing my denim jacket, oh please.