We would embark before daybreak,
cut through the bustle of a busy airport,
then drift over a fog of clouds,
childhood innocence returned for a few precious hours.
Take silly polaroids of a window's view of paradise.
When we touch down, I would wheel you on a luggage trolley, laughing all the way into the cab,
then nervously flick through a three dollar city guide.
At nightfall out in the sticks, our cabin windows would cast a warm light over the tops of pine trees,
wolves and ghosts roaming the shadows.
In the crisp air of the morning I would walk out onto the balcony in my underwear, mug of coffee clasped tightly,
pale legs stretched out as I tiptoe on the frosty boards.
The sun would peak out from the horizon, and birds would dive and screech above me.
We would go rowing out on the lake, wrapped up in ugly scarves and big sweaters,
The dark water swishing around our oars quietly.
When we journey to Washington, our tickets will be one way.
I will cling to that life forever.