I'm not one for Titles'.

It is plaid, emerald green and black.

My grandmothers.         Grandma Jo.

It comes just above my knees, and has a lovely neckline. A small amount of velvet lines the cuffs of the sleeve.

She has been saving it all of these years in the back of her closet.

The same green of my little dress lined the pale blue of the sky up the canyon today. Like God had taken a paintbrush and intricately drawn the jagged lines of the small trees above me, highlighting the last bit of what sky is left. The world is quiet there, my mind slips away from its frantic normality and ends up somewhere in the space above my head. I can hear myself breathe, hear the river make its way back to where it came from.

Like me.

I want to end up back here.

Where I came from.

But with Him, whoever Him will be. 

Hopefully Him, though.

I want a library, filled with literature. Filled with books of all shapes and sizes and categories. I want a tall ladder that swings around the entire room, and a window seat: please.

Thick blankets, warm lamps,warm undercooked chocolate chips, a fire that illuminates our shadows against the oak of the floor.

 I want a flower garden in the backyard. 

I want hidden doorways, and creaky stairs that wind in circles. I want to fall asleep in a fort, and wake up to wildflowers. I want to bring you breakfast: buttermilk pancakes and wheat toast with blood red homemade jam. I want to stay up all night with you listening to the rain angrily pound against the roof,our roof I mean. Want to watch it drip through the ceiling. I want to jump into the lake outback in a yellow sundress, and I want you to jump after me in your white shirt and tie.

I want you, mostly.

I want you from afar, as I watch you grow, and learn.

I want you in the midst of math problems and fan clubs.

I want you tomorrow as we eat raw chicken out of your refrigirator.

And I want you in your letters over the next few years.

And someday: i'd like a library,please.

Will you build me one?

I will kiss your toes, 

and you might kiss my eyelids like you used to in high school.

and who even cares? Because we will be grown ups. Twenty one maybe. 

You said we will dance in the kitchen.

"Oh, but you are lovely. Never, never change."

Merry Christmas. And Happy New Years, too.

Love,

Rachael Cherish.

(itwasnevermyintention)