pure, hopeless fantasy
I sometimes daydream an alternate life for myself. My imaginary wife and I living in a fortified compound way out in Richmond, a scenic view of the refineries. Evenings in deep chairs and warm light. Drinking wine and playing records for each other. Handing me a book she read. The quiet way she laughs when she's sleepy. Soft dusting of her fingertips through my hair. Her reflection lighting up the mirrors and windowpanes.