Ramble

I'd like to start the story of how we met right here in this town, if only you'd let me. I'd like to be able to tell our children that I knew when you gently slid your hand in mine sitting in that church that it would fit perfectly with mine. I'd like to be able to go back to that church with you ten years down the line and sit in the same pew hand in hand, never letting go. I'd like to tell them of the night it rained so heavily we had to stand under the awning of that bookshop you took me too. And how we watched people run under their umbrellas to their little houses how the tourists with all their novelty hats were drenched to the bones, their spirits and their hats ruined. I'd like to tell them about how even under that awning crowded with people I knew what you were looking at. I'd like to tell them about the first lunch, you remember that one, I was so nervous that I wouldn't have anything to say to you I kept asking you questions. Did it feel like an interrogation. I'd like to tell them of the day I had to leave, I didn't want to but my work was done. How with every inch that the car drove away my heart just kept on shrinking. I'd like to tell them all of that, if only they were real.