21

A Mid-August Afternoon in Central Park

We will mosey over somewhere between four and five. I don't really care when nor what we had been doing before that probably made us late for doing nothing. You might trip on an uneven strip of side-walk but make it out alive. I might laugh a little. We'll arrive just as the sun starts to age casting a burnt hue on the beige buildings peaking out from atop the vibrant green crests of the trees and we'll set out a blanket and drown in the sound of the mellifluous air teasing the the leaves. I will take a novel out of my bag that I never really intended to read. It will only be there for me to look up from and steal glances of the perspiration rolling down onto the grass, causing your long hair to stick to your forehead while you read or write or nap. I don't really care which. Perhaps we will get bored and turn onto our stomachs, our shoulders touching as we compete to make the other laugh by making fun of the New Yorkers who came there just to entertain us. You will obviously win as I roll onto my back with laughter and get grass stuck in my hair. You might pick off some of the debris or you might leave it, thinking it's cute. Having succeeded, you might turn over lazily onto your back and stare at the cloudless sky while I take my long-awaited place on your chest, lulled into a hazy nap by the sound of your steady breathe, my head rhythmically bobbing up and down, keeping in time with the life-sustaining beat. The grass will tickle my hand and wake me up. Thinking it an insect, I will frantically swat at nothing and accidentally disturb you. Then we will try to become resting statues once again but the comfortable position will be more difficult to attain. Awkward moments will pass as I impatiently find my spot again but then I find it and melt back into your chest. And we will secretly tear up with gratitude for this moment hoping the other doesn't notice... only to confess it a short time later over beers and food.

This will become my recurring daydream and I will be blissfully haunted by a moment so ordinary it becomes poetic.