come play with me T^T

I see it. I can see it.
Small things come to mind.

I want to show you where I live and the places I go. I want to be able to sit and chat in the square outside Gallery Expresso, sipping on hot chocolate and watching the night life. Cars swivel around corners and a horse and carriage that slowly amble past, the ‘clip clop’ of its hooves echoing on the pavement.

I’m going to make you climb the Tybee lighthouse, all 492 steps. Huge ships will float by, disappearing on the horizon. Sea gulls will flock together on the beach below us, just visible over the dunes and tall grass.

Maybe we’ll both chase ducks at Lake Mayer. Maybe I’ll chase ducks, and you’ll laugh at how ridiculous I am.

One night we may walk down River Street and the old man with the trumpet will be there, playing a song from his soul. On he will play, the lonely notes of his heartfelt tune fading over the open water. Or maybe we’ll hear the bellowing of old gospels at the corner, accompanied by a humble guitar. The old man in with the fancy boots, the black suit, the shimmering silver top hat, and the long gray beard, he will be there, dancing his heart out, tapping his heels and swaying to the music.

I want to take you to the old catholic cemetery. If we’re lucky, the moon will be bright, shining on the tombstones, and an eerie fog will creep in, blanketing the soft grass.

Of course, I’m going to teach you some of the best ways to break the law. I’m going to drive you over the Talmadge Bridge to South Carolina and buy some good fireworks, which we will promptly set off - in Georgia. I’ll show you my traffic cone collection! Maybe we can steal one together.

I plan on pushing you into a swimming pool. You will, of course, be fully clothed.

On a stormy day, when the rain sounds like thunder and the thunder sounds like bombs, we can curl up in big, fluffy blankets and light candles and watch the shadows dancing across the walls. The rain may last a long time. Being cooped up inside will make us restless, so we’ll say ‘Fuck it!’ and run outside. No umbrellas, no coats, we’ll get soaked to the bone.

And say, after three or four days of not sleeping, we’ll pass out together, slipping into a dream state, warm and comfortable, completely undisturbed by the world.