When we're far away, we think about what we're missing out on. Not so much the parties and booze. The littler things, like sitting in the playground.
That old essay, on yellowing paper, written in the hand of fifteen year old me, it's tucked away somewhere. I don't have a boyfriend anymore, or want two dogs, two cats and five children.
I really don't want a boyfriend or five children. Or dogs. And I think we're quite happy with just one cat. But I've still got you guys. Even though we're sort of all over the place, checking out the world, and having to decide on what to eat based on price.
I like that we've still got each other.
And I want what I wrote about then, and what happens/is happening now.
I think we'll spend the rest of our lives like that-
always clambering onto the next plane back to each other.