Waiting on my back on the stone bench at my second home. Outside with my feet tucked up on the bench and my head back. Ear-buds in listening to the radio. Waiting. Holding my arms up above my face with a book, reading. Or perhaps just watching the clouds. Waiting. I’d get a text asking where I was and asking if we could meet up. I’d answer. The car would pull up and then they would get out and walk up. Of course they’d laugh and ask what I was doing. The fresh air is good for me I’d reply grinning. We’d just do something simple then. Together. Something utterly childish. They’d think it was great and so would I. The fact that we weren't like everyone else wouldn't bother them. Wouldn't bother us because we were happy with or without it. The way it should be. And it would be perfect. Because we’d be together. I love him. He’s my best friend.