If I could make this night light enough to move


It is a Thursday night. We spent it curled up together watching old cartoons. You're asleep on the couch now and it is storming out. I'm thinking about the storms we spent together in Mississippi, in Louisiana, in Alabama, in Florida. I'm thinking about that time you climbed that tree outside the public library and shouted from it that you loved me.


Tonight I am grateful for a good thunderstorm just when you need it. For old cartoons and big red couches to watch them from. Cold brewed coffee and strawberry fig newtons. Coconut conditioner that smells like summer and lemon popsicles. Lunches spent by the pool, morning bike rides, and visits from family.  I'm thankful for the nights we spend with our legs tangled, how any restlessness is calmed the moment I hear you mumbling something goofy in your sleep.