I would rather have a tiny shoebox house with a blazing fire, candles adorning the table and the “outside-brought-in” to feel and smell.

I would rather have over ambitious ideas of baking 100 mince pies and sleeping in til noon with baby arms draped around my neck or toddler bodies sprawled in heavy slumber across my chest.

I would rather have a table marked with divots and marker pens, beetroot and squashed baked beans. Heavy chairs and steamed up windows as the roast is served.

I would rather be late but there.
Rather be wrong yet learn.
Messy and true.

I would rather fall asleep on the sofa with my quilt than in bed, so that I never have to turn the twinkle lights off and you may be the first face I see in the morning.

I would rather drink tea than coffee, write for you than talk. Eat fish and chips out of newspaper and never have two pennies to rub together.
Just
To
Be
With
You.

I’d rather be here, than not,
Feel than not.

Copy your face to memory and hear you call my name.

I’d rather make you smile today than cry tomorrow. I’d rather grow old watching your youth take my place.

I’d rather die now than never have loved you.

© 2024 Juliette Proffitt ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

THE ABOVE POST WAS WRITTEN BY AND REMAINS THE PROPERTY OF THE AUTHOR. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. THE AUTHOR GRANTS PERMISSION TO SHARE UNALTERED POSTS ONLY WHEN EXPLICITLY CREDITING THEM. NO OTHER REPRODUCTIONS ARE GRANTED WITHOUT PRIOR PERMISSION.