Tuesday Tellings, week 4

Irony.
Here's my secret: I'm afraid I'll never know what I want.
I'm just going to leave it at that. Wonder away.

But what's ironic is whatever formation of words that fell out of my brain into a form of a poem today just happened to be about wanting. That does not necessarily mean this is what I want though.

All I want to do
Is step in fresh puddles,
Ruining new shoes
With life, water from the sky.
All I want to do
Is know you will be there,
And you will listen
And you will tell me everything.
All I want to do
Is bum around
And write and listen to music
For the rest of my life.
All I want to do
Is eat at cheap diners
At one in the morning -
None of that fancy food.
All I want to do
Is write down
Everything that happens
Along the way.
All I want to do
Is accomplish this with you.


He loves her definitely maybe.