There Would Just be Love

If I could have it my way, everyday would be Saturday and 75˚ and I'd get to spend the first two hours of my day with my darling little niece snuggled on my chest as the gentle rise and fall of her little breath lulls us both to sleep, a mug of lukewarm specialty coffee resting on the couches' arm and my beautiful sister-in-law busily cooking up a hearty breakfast in the nearby kitchen; there would never be a sad goodbye and one last kiss on the forehead at the end of the weekend, a pit in my stomach and a red-eye flight back to NYC, a day spent at work missing her so much it literally hurt, a day spent at work fighting the urge to fall asleep head-first on my keyboard; there would never be a day I couldn't see her, touch her, hold her and adore here; there would never be a week spent lost in translation, lost in confusion, lost without you; there would never be snow in October or nights spent tossing and turning wondering when, if ever, you were coming home; there would never be a line to get a cab at JFK, my flight would always be on time and we would get off the plane together; there would never be just me, groggy and depressed to venture back to my tiny apartment where, my roommate and dog are already sound asleep and the lights too, have gone to sleep; there would never be a morning where I wake up and wonder why I left, where I am and why you can't be next to me; there would never be a night where I didn't talk to you before going to sleep, an entire day you didn't say my name or care when I scream yours; there would never be days on end spent at work reading text messages through tears or trying to set up a three page brochure with blurry vision from both loss of sleep and loss of love. There wouldn't be any of this, really; there would be hardly much of anything else. There would just be love.