We’ll have plants that don’t need water.
We’ll buy clothes that never crease because I hate ironing.
On weekends, if we’re not hung over, we’ll go to the market.
I’ll cook something from a recipe I found online, and you’ll tell me it’s great.
On weekdays, we’ll have pasta and pre-made Italian sauces.
You’ll make fun of me, but eat it all the same.
You’ll do the vacuuming around the house, and we’ll both dust the many bookshelves together.
„Do you know how easier it would be to get rid of these dust magnets?“
I’ll laugh at you and stick my tongue out because I know you don’t mean it.
You love the fact I read too much, and don’t mind when I highlight my favorite parts with colorful pens.
Our house will always seem dirty to my mother.
She’ll say I don’t clean, or cook enough.
When she goes off on one of her tirades, the two of us will look at each other in amusement.
Finally, she’ll take a mop and make a spectacle of washing kitchen tiles.
You’ll do your best not to giggle. Fail miserably.
I’ll love you even more then, seeing you take my side.
„Our home is good enough for us,“ I’ll say.
Take her mop away.
Pour her a cup of tea.
In the evenings, you’ll come as late as you want because I never liked boundaries, and I’m not a hypocrite.
After dinner, we’ll drink a glass of wine together.
At night I’ll finish the bottle alone scribbling nonsense while you uncork new ones with your friends.
I’ll never say a cross word to you about it, and welcome you in bed every night.
If you’re not too late, we’ll chuckle under sheets and make sleepy love.
If I’m already asleep, I’ll still feel you climb under the covers and instinctively turn to kiss your back.
My father will ask, „Do you know where he spends his evenings?“
I’ll politely shake my head, because it doesn’t really matter to me.
He’ll make a point of stressing all the possible dangers, I am his only daughter.
Despite what he may say, I’ll remain unworried.
As long as you return, I’ll never ask you where you’ve been.
I’ll pour my dad a glass of beer instead.
Wink at him behind a cigarette.
This is the life I’ve imagined today.
It may not be perfect, this is true.
But neither are we.
It’s the little creases, dusty crannies, imperfections
that make us you and me.