I want a porch. Wrap around. All around. I want us to be able to follow the sun. Indian summer evenings. The kind I played baseball during as a kid and tried to will the sun to linger. Just one more at-bat. Spring mornings. The slight nip in the air making you cling tightly to the cup of coffee I brought you, as you tuck your toes up under a homemade blanket that was wedding gift. I want us to have a swing. Our twerps sitting between us, little feet danging in the air. You know how that feels. I want it to be home base during hide and seek. The location of first kisses. That don’t go any further. Backdrop in growing family photos. I want to hold hands. Actively. Squeezing. Tracing lines. Trying to heal scars. Light breeze off the water, playing delicately with your bangs. Fireflies in the back of the house, their dances spelling out words only we can read. I want your head on my shoulder. My cheek on your head. My feet propelling us, as you snuggle in so close. And the swing creaks just the right amount.