a letter

Someday I'll live in a house with  spiral staircase, and a fireplace in the kitchen, and a big dog underfoot. Every room will be a different color. Every room will have books.
I want to take a train to somewhere brand new, and read a new book, and stare out the window at the blurring woods. On that train, I want to sit across from someone who likes the same kind of adventures I do.
I want to watch snow fall into the sea. I want to climb to the top of a lighthouse.
I want to play upright bass in a jazz band on the corner of Main Street at Christmastime.
I want to sit in a cafe alone, and watch the jazz band across the street play their hearts out to the passing pedestrians.
I want to write a story that will make someone happy. And another that will make someone cry.
I want to write a poem that makes someone feel less alone.
I want to write a book worth reading twice.
I want to hold the hand of someone kind, with a nice smile. I want to write haiku love letters.

I'd tell you all my secrets. Really, I would. But secrets are slippery and quick, and when I try to let them go, my heart closes up before they hit the air.
Someday, I hope my honesty is quicker than my secrecy.
I want my bravery to be faster than my fear.