Let Me Hold On To These Last Moments

I want to savor these last moments between just you and me.

I want to relive nights when we sit motionless in the front seat of your car, our heads tilted back on the headrest as Leonard Cohen’s voice silkily pounds through the speakers, whispering tales of Hallelujah.

I want us to be present in these moments – while it’s just you and me – immune to the outside world.

My insides fumble with thoughts of making a family with you. I think of you as a dad – and how you’ll be with them, and the first moments you feel that baby kicking in my stomach.

I think about late nights when we can’t sleep and you wrap your arms around me – or the days we count seconds waiting for that stick to turn from white to pink; our cheeks blushing from jubilation. I think about how you’ll cradle them, and teach them, and mold them.

But tonight, I want it to be me and you, wondering about the world and getting lost in all its’ possibilities.

I want us to dream tonight about forty years from now and wonder who we’ll be or where we’ll go. Tonight, I want your arms to cradle me, and grab tightly onto my thick thighs, inhaling my breath as I kiss you. One day soon enough we’ll lie sleepless in a king sized bed with the aroma of stinky feet, and tousled blonde hair, and a face that looks just like yours hogging up pillows until we both just wander onto the living room floor.

One day soon enough we’ll converse about diapers, and food, and bills, and why we hate the boy at school who pulled our little princess’ hair – and we’ll do our very best to convince her that it doesn’t mean he likes her. Soon enough we’ll be thirty pounds heavier, and grayer, and wiser, but tonight I want to be whimsical for just a minute longer. I want us to elaborate on our goals, and how it feels as your fingertips grace the fraying strings on your acoustic.

For just a minute longer, I want to hear you inspire me because soon enough you’ll be convincing me that I’m not doing a terrible job at mothering when our teenage daughter screams from her balcony that she hates me.

For just tonight, I want us to be free – care less about what will be, and who we’ll become because those days of carefree nights and lives lived from worry will be in front us, smacking us with their cold and bitter reality.

One day soon enough, we’ll wonder how we ever thought life was truly lived when we look down into the face of what we just created; one day soon enough, we’ll look back on this life, thinking, how we ever knew love before it.