Do you know what I really want? I really, really want to live in a big white farmhouse in the country, with green fields with a little stream that cuts through and a tangled forest behind. I want to have lots of rooms filled with pictures and fresh flowers and music that plays in every room and open windows everywhere. I want a home where friends are always stopping by for a day, a week or a month, bringing with them laughter and stories from other places. I want to have two or three or four fat babies who turn into wild and intelligent children with my freckled nose and their father's eyes. Maybe they'll even have a dimple in one cheek like me. I want them to run free and come home smelling like grass and sweat and summer skin, warm from the sun and playing pretend as hard as possible. I want big family dinners on a farmhouse table with a starched old linen tablecloth. We'll eat off of mismatched plates and drink out of my great-grandmother's teacups through meals that last for hours. And I want love. Love with someone who can say it and feel it and make me believe it, too. Roomfuls and housefuls and fields full of love. So much love that the wind whispers it through the open windows on breezy nights. So much love that it shouts louder than fights or fears or old age. Love that's burned into the hearts of our children before they're even born. Love that you can carry with you when you're alone. Love that holds your hand while you sleep. Love that looks straight into your eyes.
And one day, I'm going to have it.