We will sleep until the sun paints our eyelids red and drink coffee, black and hot, from fragile cups.
We will lay in the grass, holding hands and singing songs that our parents sang first, as our skin pinks.
We will cook elaborate dinners and not spill a drop from crystal goblets trimmed with gold.
We will be alone. So terribly, awfully, wonderfully alone. We will fall in love again. A new beginning at the end.
