Be my muse so I can write a story about the way you burn toast and leave your socks on the floor. I don’t know if anyone else will think the story is any good, but it will be my favorite. I will write a chapter on how you can’t hold a pitch but I still love to hear you sing, a chapter on your blue car with a rip in the back seat, a chapter about your once red hoodie now fading to pink. You still wear it anyway because you like the way my nose crinkles when you take it off and throw it onto me.
Two chapters will tell about staying up ‘til dawn, laughing at all we’ve left behind. A chapter and a half to show that I was wrong when I ran away, wasting my time.
A page to retell how I knew you unequivocally, but only as a child when we went frog hunting in the pond.
A paragraph for your favorite book, which you read five times in the seventh grade.
A sentence for the tattoo you regret.
A word for when you close your eyes.
The story isn’t being paced quite right. Authors cringe and editors turn me away but I just keep writing because it reminds me of you and I never want you to go away.
So another chapter about when we debate never-ending subjects in the sunshine.
Two more about fist fights with your cousins in the snow.
Another about baking Angel Food Cake just so you could throw flour in my hair.
Then another for the laughter that sang from the ground up as I watched you get stuck in our favorite tree.
One more about scotch by the riverside.
Be my muse and I’ll write it all down.
where we will grow 