coming home

to the shrieks of laughter and tiny feet thumping against wooden floors.
To put on bossanova while I shower, and Andre Bocelli as I move about the kitchen.
to pick a couple of fruits out of my basket and try a new smoothie that'll match with dinner, hum to myself as I wipe my hands on my apron and pop cherry toms into my mouth unthinkingly.

Pause for the briefest moment, to run my fingers over the picture smiling at me from where it's taped, before pulling open the refrigerator door.
Wrinkle my nose at the week old half bottle of red, and decide against using it in the cooking because it's only a Monday night.

Step on a piece of lego that's found its way to the floor of the kitchen,
And curse silently while I hobble over to the sink.
Lean against cabinets and counters, and smile at the memory of picking them out.

To feel myself skip, just a bit, at the sound of a second car pulling into the driveway.
Getting to the door, throwing it open.

To you,
coming home to me.