I'm not going to give up.
Stomping in mud puddles and making mud pies.
I will never hurt you.
Curling up with a good book, listening to the rain pitter-patter on the tin roof.
...like Rocky Road ice cream good.
Doritio-stained fingertips leaving orange blotches on the pages of my favorite books.
Some men still holding the door open for women.
Some women holding the door open for men.
The smell of an old book as you flip through the pages.
Not seeing your way around the dark veil of depression that increasingly squeezed in on your life.
Occasionally, tiny specks of happiness sprinkled through your life, like bits of candy cane in peppermint ice cream - sharp, but sweet.
The sun hitting the warmest portion of the chair that your cat has already claimed its own.
Mud slurping from you shoes as you trudge through a marshy shore.
Your hair dancing behind you like fairy wisps in a breeze.
Arguing back at the television, but unwilling to turn it off.
Lips that may crack from the width of your smile.
Pretending not to notice the obvious reasons we aren't alike.
Obsessing on the reasons we are alike.
Living half your life, knowing there is only one other half left.