I'm your man

Oh, the things I would do for you

Little makes sense anymore except being with her.

I rest my head on her bare shoulder. I can still smell her eucalyptus and spearmint body wash on her skin as she reaches for a fresh joint from her beside drawer, lighting it with my lighter. Her lighter. She stole it. I hadn’t used it in over a decade because I haven’t seen another with the same movie stub design. I guess I gave it to her at some point to let go of something that wasn’t nostalgic but now is as I see it again.

The light from the flame illuminated on her chest as the slow and even burn tapered off.

I could live here for awhile- watching the smoke graze our bodies and hearing the rhythm of her heart settling back to normal. I could live in this moment until she couldn’t any longer. She would have to give in, not me. I’m not moving.

She moved when ash hit her skin.

I love your discombobbled hair, she said afterward. She likes making up words and I like interpreting them.

We got dressed and went to the grocery store. Pizza, avocados, oils, smoked gouda pretzels, and beer.

How should we split this up? she asks.

I’ll pay. Don’t worry about it, I say.

Babes.

Please, let me.

I always knew I wanted to be rich. Since I was young, I knew I was destined, some way, some how. I have to be rich. Rich with wealth. Rich with health. Rich with such a simple life. But now I want to be rich for her. I want to be full of wealth for her. I want to be the healthiest version of myself for her. I would pay all the goddamn bills for the rest of our lives if I could for her.

Don’t you dare touch your wallet.

I always knew I wanted to travel, too. I daydreamed of England as a kid. I wanted to be with the rain- still do. Prince Edward Island wasn’t far in my mind. I wanted to breathe in the ocean-side where Lucy Maud Montgomery created Anne Shirley. But now I only want to travel with her and I don’t care where anymore. To the grocery store is enough for now.

I don’t know what I want to do when I grow up. I don’t know what I want anymore. I don’t know what I care about anymore. Except her. I know I want her. I know I care about her. I could live a thousand lifetimes, but if I don’t find her in each one, I don’t think they’re stories worth telling.

So, let me pay.

I’ll open the jar of pickles in the fridge. I’ll massage you nightly. I’ll go to doctors appointments with you. I’ll daydream of you. I’ll come home to you. Keep my lighter. I’m your man.