guilty
long, hot showers
watching the night sky
eating the very top layer of peanut butter
from the jar
dancing like a fool when you think no one can see you
the smell of the old, wool blanket
at the end of the bed
falling asleep on the porch in the summer
after watching the stars to the cicada churrs
running barefoot in the middle of a rainstorm
piling all three little ones onto your small twin bed
telling them stories and listening to their dreams
watching the sun rise
the smell of cooking celery and mushrooms
of the soup your mother always makes on special days
drawing on the walls
making the broken things whole again
letting the wind mess your hair and never trying to fix it
falling on your rock-hard bed after the longest night ever
watching the wind caress the treetops
the color yellow
never making your bed
learning to trust and relax again
having someone ask and care how you're really doing
corny romantic comedies that should make your eyes roll
but really just make you wish true love was real
snuggling into the old chair by the fire on frozen, grey days
the smell of springtime
unexpected acts of kindness
and the soft light from candles on the windowsill.
These are my guilty pleasures. Judge not.