i hope to never be busy

a love letter to life, and a love letter to freedom

I want to write love poems to friends and old lovers.

I want to skip water and drink only wine.

I want all of the bartenders to know my secrets, all of my lore. I want them to know my love stories, and I want them to know that they, will most likely be the subject of one, two, four or five.

I want red nails. Then I want pink nails. I want to rotate. I want that welcoming smile from the girl at the reception desk.

“You’re a hand model.” She tells me as she takes photos of my new set.

Lollipop with a pink top coat.

“It’s probably my ideal job. Just to stand and do nothing.”

I want to remember things, I want to remember feelings. The girl who has been threading my eyebrows since 2019.

She knows all of my adventures, and she knows every place that I’ve been.

“I hope you get to stay for a while.” She tells me back in October.

“Me too.” We give each other a squeeze.

A bartender tops up my wine glass in the late afternoon. “I heard you just got your nails done.” I’m at a restaurant my friend manages.

“It’s a waste to put in the work and not show them off.”

When you love life, life loves you back.

The older couple beside me tells her that they’re going to skip the water and just go straight into Prosecco and Chianti.

They don’t even know it, but I love them, too.

In the mornings, I never want to fill up my day. I want to take an hour to drink my coffee. I want to still drink it, even when it’s cold.

“You’re just like your mother.” My dad tells me. “She would do the exact same thing.”

On a weekday evening, I take off my denim jacket and show MFB my new tattoo.

“I wake with your memory over me.” I read out to him and catch his eye. We hold each other’s gaze for a few moments.

I wonder if he ever wants to go back to that morning, too.

“That’s really…” He pauses. “Nice.” He smiles.

It’s a brief moment, but a soft one.

Before going to the grocery store, I always apply lip liner. I’ll pray for that run-in, but I love how colourful and full my basket of groceries look. I’m still not sick of homemade tzatziki.

I try my best to remember to water the plants. I’ll buy new flowers, and set them in different vases around my home.

I won’t vacuum the feathers from the pillows, because I believe that they’re signs from the angels.

The days feel beautiful, the days are beautiful.

And I am alive, and I am free.