It’s the day before The Accident. We’re snuggled up on the couch, you and I. You’re watching TV, shouting increasingly ridiculous answers at Alex Trebec. I’m laughing, and playing with the little curl behind your ear that only appears when your hair is a certain length. You mention that you’re going to get your hair cut later, but I secretly hope you procrastinate a bit longer. I love that curl. I don’t know yet that you never will get a chance to cut it.
Your eyes suddenly light up, and you turn to me, excited.
“Let’s make a pillow fort!”
We collect all of the blankets and cushions we own, and with the reinforcement of some kitchen chairs, construct a fortress that dominates the living room. We crawl inside our lair, but almost immediately, you crawl back out.
You reappear with a bag of mini-marshmallows. We try to toss them into each other’s mouths, never succeeding, but managing to bombard noses, eyes, and cheeks with soft missiles. One goes down my sundress, and we laugh and laugh. Weeks later, I find a marshmallow hiding under the coffee table. I can’t bring myself to throw it away.
We make love in our pillow fort, and afterwards, you nuzzle my neck and kiss my ear, and we curl up among the blankets. I lie there, playing with your forever curl, surrounded by soft comfort and rogue marshmallows, listening to your snores, blissfully unaware of what is to come.
you and I watch
and secretly hope
love will suddenly
collect and dominate
we reappear into each other
and find love
in our kiss
we lie there
by comfort and bliss