"so yes."

I’d pull down the moon for you if I could.

I’d unravel the ribbon you’ve wrapped around my heart, lasso and anchor the moon.

I’d bottle up the seemingly simple pieces of delight throughout a day, so that I might share with you an inch more of my happiness.

And in a mason jar I’d leave:

earmarked corners of a coffee stained Jane Austen paperback

sun soaked jeans left to dry on a porch’s ledge

the smell of fresh laundry and vanilla and the hollow of your neck

melodies of cheesy pop songs hummed under streaming water

proper cups of tea sipped in pajamas while snuggled up in couch corners

ink stained sheets of graph paper and recycled receipts and edges of napkins

I’d leave a Patty Griffin sound score to cookie baking in a candlelit kitchen

words and tangents and nibbling sunflower seeds in a tree’s shade on a Friday afternoon

permission to simply be

Christmas mugs of coffee and the New York Time’s Art Section

Harry Potter at midnight

I’d leave my blue butterfly pin
I’d leave a family dinner on Charles Street
I’d leave the sound of your voice in the dark
And the blush in my cheeks, the tingling of fingertips, the glow of contentment

I’d draw you a map with the lines of my face to better help navigate.

I’d connect these freckles to every breath of a word if it meant steering you closer.

And I’d take a cue from George Bailey if it meant offering you a hatful of wishes so that I’d have but a dozen more chances to be the something desired in the shattered glass of the old Granville House.