She's a Fleeting Fox

We can start by building forts. That's fine, for now. Eventually, though, I want to build a home with you. I want to have a forest of flora covering our backyard, and you'll watch me tend to the roses and hydrangeas like they were our own children. The front yard will be covered by the red and yellow leaves toppling over our roof. A wooden swing will hang from the heavy branch extended off its trunk, for our kids, for our own amusement. Our kitchen will always smell of baked treats. You'll hold me from behind and try to sneak some apple pieces as I'm baking you your favorite pie. I'll kiss you softly and you'll watch intently, us both smiling. The bedroom will be warm and smell of lavender and honeysuckle. Our bedsheets will always be soft and our pillows will feel like soft clouds guiding us to happy dreams.


But even if we don't have any of that. If we end up in a one bedroom apartment with no heat and bad water pressure, and cracked windows and bad electricity--just knowing that you're there with me, sticking it out for all good and bad...that's enough.


We should build a fort, so maybe we can then build a home.