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  • We would never talk about our days because we were so excited about our nights.
    How you wouldn’t get mad at me for staying out too late. And I wouldn’t get mad at you for having friends over, getting a little too drunk and singing.

    How we would listen to music loudly in our house, on speakers that lined every room, so that the house would shake. We would make drinks and dance and talk until dawn. But still hold down jobs and be professional adults.

    We would make music when we were sad. Or bored. Or because we had been singing the same phrase over and over and had to let it out of our minds.

    In the winter, when it was cold and the heating wasn’t working properly, we would lie naked under blankets and not complain.

    We would sleep outside sometimes because it is fun to do. And star-gaze. You could leave when you needed to and I wouldn’t cause a scene about it because I knew that you’d come back when you wanted to be back home.

    I would help you to sleep with the tv off and dream the whole night through. You would help me to believe that I was the most beautiful person that you knew in the entire world.

    We would save. We would put coins into jars. We would travel with the coins in our laps, leaving town without a plan but make one up along the way.

    I wouldn’t think your dreams were childish and stupid. I wouldn’t tell you to grow up. I would hold you when you were sad and turn the lights off and rock you like a small child in my arms.

    In the summer, we would spend the entire time at the lake, under stars, in the sunshine, by a campfire, on a boat. I would learn how to pull people skiing and stay out all day in the sun, driving in circles. We would sleep well at night because we were tired and sore. When we had to leave, we would pack our things and clean and resent that we couldn’t stay always. In the depths of the winter we would dream of plans to escape.
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