Writing the future before the present.

I can’t watch this happen again, when our feet have only just touched the clouds. Each book I write is a novel about the might never be, and one day in the future I wrote a book about every moment we had together. It was called “The Life That Always Was” and there was laughter on every third page. The chapters all started with major milestones in life, such as the time we met, the moments in the kitchen and taking walks on autumn afternoons, and the time that you stood beside me as we watched the world end around us (in a good way).

Each song that we danced to had a story, and some of the stories were painful, some joyful. All were worth telling, as the stories of families are always worth telling…even if only to ourselves.

So as the light of the stars came from the past, and we dreamed of the future…

I whispered “please come home” and there you were.

Who knew it was so simple?

(Currently listening to this song.)