I want you.
And me.
And a house by the sea.

I want quiet mornings, full of whispers & leftover dishes.
I want the saltwater to preserve your smiles, like saltwater kisses.

I want you.
And me.
And a house by the sea.

I want a wraparound hug.
With a creaky porch swing & a worn old coffee mug.

I want you.
And me.
And a house by the sea.

I want warm hoodies & hands to hold mine tight.
I want a walk by the water, on a warm, cloudless night.

But for right now, I'll happily settle for saying goodnight.

Some life lessons are hard earned.
For some unnecessarily.
Some places are forever tainted, others rarely...

Kitchens for instance.
Kitchens are where loving hands hide smiles & leave crumbs.

Wrong.

For me kitchens signify greedy hands never to be satisfied,
Exploring places they shouldn't touch.

That was the place my childhood died.
I was only an urge to feed your carnal appetite: innocence hidden by a  toothless grin & brown curls.
You had a craving, a sweet tooth for little girls.

A cabin.
A cabin is the setting for most family photo albums.

Wrong again.

For some that might hold true.
But for me, a cabin is a place full of creaky bed springs & whispers in my ear.
You tried to wake me from my childhood to take more, instilling my with fear.

What you did to me was wrong.

It only happened once.
Thank God it wasn't twice.
I still never know if I was the only one, if I ever did suffice...