October
I picture October.
We’re standing outside and it’s chilly, there’s a breeze and it’s light enough to not disturb us, yet powerful enough to send some of the leftover, autumnal leaves shaking off of the trees and falling before us, landing in my hair and landing on some of the guests sitting around us and our friends standing beside us.
There’s a flower crown on my head, an assortment of seasonal flowers weaved through my hair. My hair is dark raspberry and wavy, giving off a magenta glow in the sunlight filtering through the slightly barren trees.
The long dress hangs loosely off my body, my pale skin even paler in contrast to the white dress and the golden glow of the afternoon around us. Underneath the diaphanous fabric, my feet are clad in flat, jeweled sandals, toenails painted in oxblood.
The sun sets on us with tears flowing down our cheekbones, leaves rustling underneath our steps, and hands entwined so tightly I’m not sure I’ll ever want to let go. Everyone around us is basking in our radiance, for we are the sunset, the scintillating stars, and the morning’s rising sun.
I picture November.
I still write about you every day, I’m still in such a giddy state, stealing glances of you from across our dinner table, observing your sleeping figure one last time before I turn off the bedside lamp and lull myself to sleep. In the mornings we wake up to our dog in bed with us, a happy family bundled under the covers as the rain pours outside and happiness flows like a river inside of us.
The holidays sneak around the corner and the scent of spices and pumpkin and ginger waft through the house constantly. We go grocery shopping and hold hands while wandering through the aisles. You decorate the front porch with real pumpkins, a fall wreath hangs on our door, you get so excited to celebrate your favorite season with me in our new home and I love nothing more than the hearth of your soul during this time.
I picture December.
We keep the curtains open and watch the sun rise and set as it comes and goes. I play obnoxious Christmas music throughout the house and we dance around the kitchen while making sugar cookies, licking the batter off spoons and fanning the smoke away when I burn them. There are mistletoes in every door frame and I make every effort possible to take advantage of them from the start of the month until the very end and although it’s annoying, you oblige every time. There’s a large tree set up in the corner, decorated as best we could compromise. At night we snuggle in front of the fireplace, mugs of hot chocolate with peppermint liquor in our hands, thick blankets creating a nest around us. I’m wrapped up in this, I’m wrapped up in you, I’m wrapped up in this beautiful life.
I picture January.
We clink champagne glasses together and kiss at midnight. I think you taste better than the overpriced champagne and I’m more intoxicated from your kiss than the alcohol. We dance with each other surrounded by drunken friends until the party dies down and we’re left alone with confetti and glitter on the ground.
I fall asleep with my head on your chest, your hand caressing my hair, and your lips on the top of my head, wishing me into yet another new year to spend with you, 365 more days in love with my best friend.
I picture February.
We deny how romantic we really are, yet decorate the house with heart-shaped throw pillows and leave cliché love notes all over the house. I cook dinner every night while wearing red lipstick, and have a glass of wine poured and ready for you when you come home. We watch bad Hallmark movies and make fun of them before we’re too tired of the horrible acting and decide to retreat upstairs, our dog following us, ready to cuddle between us. I could live forever in this Valentine’s Day.
I picture March.
Spring is peeking out, the sun begins shining a little bit brighter, snow is melting, and we go regularly shopping for plants. I watch your excitement raise for the pretty flowers soon returning to the season. Together we go for runs in the early morning, our lawn still sprinkled with dew, the light of day not yet returned. We take our dog for walks around the block at night, recounting our days, laughing at whatever ridiculousness that has occurred. When we finally reach our house again, we sit on the front porch steps and watch the stars fall across the sky.
I picture April.
It’s rainievery dayday through screens of sunlight, but we still love it nonetheless. The weather warms up, we take day trips to random locations, we explore different places. Together we stomp through puddles in big cities and small towns, drying off from the rain inside cute cafés and spacious art museums. Some flowers you’ve planted are beginning to sprout, next month they’ll spring up and you’ll be in your own horticultural heaven. You teach me how to care for the plants you treat as children and I’m in my own personal heaven.
I picture May.
Flowers burst from the soil in magnificent colors. Our windowsill is lined with succulents and cacti, my hibiscus sit on the front porch proudly, blossomed brilliantly. We spend nearly everyday outside— we eat outside, read outside, we even fall asleep under the stars a few times. We lay together on a hammock as lightning bugs fill the air at night, there’s a warm breeze and you wrap your arm around me tighter before I drift off. I never dream anymore because now I’m living my dream and there is no need.
I picture June.
Summer sends rays of sun streaming through our bedroom windows in the morning, the fan is on full blast, yet we still cuddle underneath the blankets, skin sticking to one another. We travel a lot now— road trips and plane trips, exploring up and down the coast and venturing outside the countries to the places we’ve always wanted to travel to. We toast to one another as we sit overlooking the Amalfi Coast, fireworks above our heads and in our hearts. We backpack through dense European forests, we hold hands weaving through crowded city streets, we rest our heads on the plane rides home. I don’t care where we go because I’ll go anywhere with you.
I picture July.
We host parties outside and make friends with the neighbors. I attempt to make fancy, mixed drinks and fail miserably at it, but you’re proud of me and drink your slush of alcohol anyway. All of our best friends join us and we laugh louder than any of the Fourth of July fireworks. Everyone brings their dogs and they run around our large yard, chasing one another. At the end of the night you wrap your arm around my waist and pull me in for the grand finale, but while you’re looking at the fireworks in the sky, I’m looking at you instead.
I picture August.
The end of summer is dwindling, but we still attempt to make the most of it. We spend days at the lake, kayaking around it or laying on the shore. We drink spiked lemonade out of mason jars and pick wildflowers for each other. I catch you looking at me behind your dark sunglasses. You quickly look away, a smirk on your face, before I pull you in for a kiss, your lips tasting like all of our summer adventures wrapped up in one.
I picture September.
The heat is still there but the nights grow cooler and cooler. You begin decorating early and our house is dressed in maroon and golden hues, transformed into a fall castle. I bake leaf-shaped cookies and cinnamon rolls to get into the spirit of the season and there’s pumpkin-flavored everything in the fridge. Every night we watch scary movies together, a different one every night, a bowl of popcorn placed in between us. I bury my face in your shoulder when it gets too scary and later we laugh about it. You drink your coffee while staring out the window on foggy mornings and I take candid photos of you because you just look so fucking perfect.
We live in these twelve months and a million more. We live so happily with each other, we live forever.
We’re standing outside and it’s chilly, there’s a breeze and it’s light enough to not disturb us, yet powerful enough to send some of the leftover, autumnal leaves shaking off of the trees and falling before us, landing in my hair and landing on some of the guests sitting around us and our friends standing beside us.
There’s a flower crown on my head, an assortment of seasonal flowers weaved through my hair. My hair is dark raspberry and wavy, giving off a magenta glow in the sunlight filtering through the slightly barren trees.
The long dress hangs loosely off my body, my pale skin even paler in contrast to the white dress and the golden glow of the afternoon around us. Underneath the diaphanous fabric, my feet are clad in flat, jeweled sandals, toenails painted in oxblood.
The sun sets on us with tears flowing down our cheekbones, leaves rustling underneath our steps, and hands entwined so tightly I’m not sure I’ll ever want to let go. Everyone around us is basking in our radiance, for we are the sunset, the scintillating stars, and the morning’s rising sun.
I picture November.
I still write about you every day, I’m still in such a giddy state, stealing glances of you from across our dinner table, observing your sleeping figure one last time before I turn off the bedside lamp and lull myself to sleep. In the mornings we wake up to our dog in bed with us, a happy family bundled under the covers as the rain pours outside and happiness flows like a river inside of us.
The holidays sneak around the corner and the scent of spices and pumpkin and ginger waft through the house constantly. We go grocery shopping and hold hands while wandering through the aisles. You decorate the front porch with real pumpkins, a fall wreath hangs on our door, you get so excited to celebrate your favorite season with me in our new home and I love nothing more than the hearth of your soul during this time.
I picture December.
We keep the curtains open and watch the sun rise and set as it comes and goes. I play obnoxious Christmas music throughout the house and we dance around the kitchen while making sugar cookies, licking the batter off spoons and fanning the smoke away when I burn them. There are mistletoes in every door frame and I make every effort possible to take advantage of them from the start of the month until the very end and although it’s annoying, you oblige every time. There’s a large tree set up in the corner, decorated as best we could compromise. At night we snuggle in front of the fireplace, mugs of hot chocolate with peppermint liquor in our hands, thick blankets creating a nest around us. I’m wrapped up in this, I’m wrapped up in you, I’m wrapped up in this beautiful life.
I picture January.
We clink champagne glasses together and kiss at midnight. I think you taste better than the overpriced champagne and I’m more intoxicated from your kiss than the alcohol. We dance with each other surrounded by drunken friends until the party dies down and we’re left alone with confetti and glitter on the ground.
I fall asleep with my head on your chest, your hand caressing my hair, and your lips on the top of my head, wishing me into yet another new year to spend with you, 365 more days in love with my best friend.
I picture February.
We deny how romantic we really are, yet decorate the house with heart-shaped throw pillows and leave cliché love notes all over the house. I cook dinner every night while wearing red lipstick, and have a glass of wine poured and ready for you when you come home. We watch bad Hallmark movies and make fun of them before we’re too tired of the horrible acting and decide to retreat upstairs, our dog following us, ready to cuddle between us. I could live forever in this Valentine’s Day.
I picture March.
Spring is peeking out, the sun begins shining a little bit brighter, snow is melting, and we go regularly shopping for plants. I watch your excitement raise for the pretty flowers soon returning to the season. Together we go for runs in the early morning, our lawn still sprinkled with dew, the light of day not yet returned. We take our dog for walks around the block at night, recounting our days, laughing at whatever ridiculousness that has occurred. When we finally reach our house again, we sit on the front porch steps and watch the stars fall across the sky.
I picture April.
It’s rainievery dayday through screens of sunlight, but we still love it nonetheless. The weather warms up, we take day trips to random locations, we explore different places. Together we stomp through puddles in big cities and small towns, drying off from the rain inside cute cafés and spacious art museums. Some flowers you’ve planted are beginning to sprout, next month they’ll spring up and you’ll be in your own horticultural heaven. You teach me how to care for the plants you treat as children and I’m in my own personal heaven.
I picture May.
Flowers burst from the soil in magnificent colors. Our windowsill is lined with succulents and cacti, my hibiscus sit on the front porch proudly, blossomed brilliantly. We spend nearly everyday outside— we eat outside, read outside, we even fall asleep under the stars a few times. We lay together on a hammock as lightning bugs fill the air at night, there’s a warm breeze and you wrap your arm around me tighter before I drift off. I never dream anymore because now I’m living my dream and there is no need.
I picture June.
Summer sends rays of sun streaming through our bedroom windows in the morning, the fan is on full blast, yet we still cuddle underneath the blankets, skin sticking to one another. We travel a lot now— road trips and plane trips, exploring up and down the coast and venturing outside the countries to the places we’ve always wanted to travel to. We toast to one another as we sit overlooking the Amalfi Coast, fireworks above our heads and in our hearts. We backpack through dense European forests, we hold hands weaving through crowded city streets, we rest our heads on the plane rides home. I don’t care where we go because I’ll go anywhere with you.
I picture July.
We host parties outside and make friends with the neighbors. I attempt to make fancy, mixed drinks and fail miserably at it, but you’re proud of me and drink your slush of alcohol anyway. All of our best friends join us and we laugh louder than any of the Fourth of July fireworks. Everyone brings their dogs and they run around our large yard, chasing one another. At the end of the night you wrap your arm around my waist and pull me in for the grand finale, but while you’re looking at the fireworks in the sky, I’m looking at you instead.
I picture August.
The end of summer is dwindling, but we still attempt to make the most of it. We spend days at the lake, kayaking around it or laying on the shore. We drink spiked lemonade out of mason jars and pick wildflowers for each other. I catch you looking at me behind your dark sunglasses. You quickly look away, a smirk on your face, before I pull you in for a kiss, your lips tasting like all of our summer adventures wrapped up in one.
I picture September.
The heat is still there but the nights grow cooler and cooler. You begin decorating early and our house is dressed in maroon and golden hues, transformed into a fall castle. I bake leaf-shaped cookies and cinnamon rolls to get into the spirit of the season and there’s pumpkin-flavored everything in the fridge. Every night we watch scary movies together, a different one every night, a bowl of popcorn placed in between us. I bury my face in your shoulder when it gets too scary and later we laugh about it. You drink your coffee while staring out the window on foggy mornings and I take candid photos of you because you just look so fucking perfect.
We live in these twelve months and a million more. We live so happily with each other, we live forever.
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