We never wanted a house, the kitchen, the foyer. We could give barely a ****, really. We just wanted a room, a desk, ceiling to floor bookshelves filled with books and windows that overlooked tops of large oak trees. We wanted the sunlight all morning and afternoon, the rain, the vines that grow around the windowsill and music from old turntables spilling through the storm. We wanted the groves of apple trees and strawberry bushes for our morning walks and the expanse of the entire cosmos for our viewing pleasure during the evenings. We wanted prancing on mountain tops and kissing the sublime in paddle boarding excursions and free diving to a pod of sleeping ***** whales. We wanted sunlit art studio with watercolors and oil paint and graphite pieces on thick white paper and raw clay on the wheel and ***** splattered aprons on wooden stools. We wanted
wrote this sporadically throughout the day