p.s.

And one day we will wake up Christmas morning together, giddy children, and there will be no parents, no parents there and no parents not there, and we will have wine for breakfast, and tears for brunch and have no broken things or ugly words but only stockings more than one and more than hope together...

And your breast will vibrate to the call of a boy who is there but not too much to smother you nor too much to bore you...

And the pieces of the puzzle will make a singular picture...

And we will laugh of times we doubted and drank away our potential...

And we will not rely on watches and jackets and cars to know when we'll see them again...

And I will forget how many years it has been since I saw my father, got a christmas/birthday/any kind of card from my father...

And we will be the grownups in the room yet feel like children, and seeing the grownups have truly grown old we will have room to forgive...

And the shoes, the shoes will only get better...

And we will not know any more, but we'll know not to worry that we don't know most the time anymore...