I made a last minute decision to drive 6 hours to hike 12 miles through water. Met a girl who said she’s been trying to have a gay experience for 7 years but couldn’t find lesbians. And made it back home in time for dinner.
This is the last week I can call myself a college student. I’ve been thinking too much lately. But I still live my day, and do what I can. I work in the morning while I eat my breakfast, because the nights are always too damn sensitive. Yes, there were times when I lived for somebody else. My passion died, so I decided to live it for myself. I just decided it was time.
But I wrote a letter on a lonesome day saying that I don’t know when I’ll be coming back again. It depends on how I’m feeling. Nobody knows how to say goodbye. Nobody knows how to get back home. Nobody knows how the story ends. But it hasn’t yet. So I start the day, doing what I can.
I want you and me. This means I want you and me and passports full of stamps of the countries we’ve seen and a collection of photos we took along the way. I want a camera that tells me I am out of room because I took 300 photos of you when you weren’t looking. I want your smile so big and bright and evident because I’ve succeeded in my sole job of making you happy on top of the happiness I know you provide for yourself. I want you and me and our kids we’ve already named under the Christmas tree. We are opening presents, drinking hot cocoa, laughing and beaming at our kids smiles; we are starting our own traditions. I want you and me and our kids filling our passports as we show them the world, showing them our favorite places. I want to be dropping off our kids at college and starting our next set of adventures. I want our friends at our place on Thanksgiving. I want to be our friend’s kids second family. I want to be the family with you that everyone else looks to when their relationship is on the rocks.