And you’re knocking on my door. I wish you would stop doing that. I am on a roll.

...

“Give me a minute,” I’m yelled, “I’m writing nice things about you and, if you give me a minute, I’ll come out with it and show it to you, and then we’ll go lay out on the lawn, and I’ll sing to you. One minute, I promise!”

And you said, “Really? Aww…”

And so I said, “Yeah, one minute…”

And you went downstairs to wait for me, which I really appreciate. You are a nice person. I like you.

And I predict you are going to find this part funny.

I’m losing it. Oh no, I’m losing it.

I wonder what you’re doing down there…

I bet you’re sitting on the front steps. I haven’t seen you yet tonight, but I bet you’re wearing that gray hoodie again. You’re playing with the drawstrings for the hood probably, and I suspect you’re staring at the fire hydrant.

Now, arms at your sides, you’re swaying back and forth, as though you hear a beat. Do you actually hear one when you do that? I’ve never asked. It’s really cute. Ok, coming