junglejustine:

gmoneyknows:

beenthinking:

“Fake Empire” – The National

Stay out super late tonight
picking apples, making pies
put a little something in our lemonade and take it with us

In practice, the idea of coupling again remains unfathomable.  I can be happy and a realist, right?; I can be tired of the hopeful search.

Simply, from here, I see no proof of variables that solve the equation.  And I am exhausted by the pursuit of it all – by small talk and dates and early confessions and thirty years of catch up and the months of experimental gymnastics that will determine whether I Can Love You and You Can Love Me.  Whether this could last; Could harden into stone.

But in theory…I’ll admit that the theory of it all working beautifully is a delightful place to stroll.  And so I start to dream.  Will you be very scruffy? Will you be most yourself in flannels that smell like sawdust and cloves? Will you wear serious boots and a stocking cap and no concern over whether it musses your hair?

Maybe you will drive an old Wagoneer and we will park it on the beach or in a field and lean back on the tailgate collecting stars far from this Gatsby of a city. Or maybe you will have an old barn car – a dusty ’68 Nova, unrestored and ballsy and we will sit in the backseat – big as a bathtub – and watch movies at the drive in. Maybe you’ll have a car you don’t think about.  A car that isn’t a statement; That sounds really good. Or a bike. That you’ll ride behind me in the dark, in the morning to the farmers market.

I think about your favorite authors – who you’ll be aghast that I have not read. Who you’ll drag me to Magers & Quinn to buy immediately.  I think about your go-to songs – the mix you’d make for long drives and shitty days and to dance to in the house.  Because I think you’ll have character and depth but you would not take yourself too seriously.  I think you’d have a dog and maybe a garden. I think you’d let me cut your hair; Sometimes, I can already feel the heat of your scalp under my fingertips and the weight of your head leaning back, heavy against my chest.

You’ll have been through your own wars and you’ll have sat wounded in the mire and learned from them for a long enough spell. You’ll have made mistakes, and you’ll have bad habits; Still, you’ll be a better man than you know.  Maybe you’ll have a roundtable of men you make time for every week – the guys who knew you before you talked to girls. You’ll have work or art you care about, something you want to leave in the world. You’ll challenge me and when I ask, you’ll give advice that I have to think about for a long time and which eventually will shape me.  You’ll have a faith –quiet and more important to you than I ever will be.

You’ll teach me something great – how to make ceviche or tie flies. Your laugh will be easy, hard, real. Maybe you’ll love to walk as far as I do. Maybe we’ll wander through this city like a lifetime, across its arches and spans until we collapse into an unsigned pub. Until our coffee grows cold.  Until we reach Timbuktu and Shangri-La.

Maybe we’ll come home and lie on top of the quilt, in our jeans and sweaters in the dark, and talk in low voices until we sleep.  Maybe you and I will never run out of things we want the other to know.

I like this.

This is one of the best things I’ve read on tumblr, nevermind that it follows one of my favorite songs.

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