I wish we have a small country house in the suburb and we will stay there in the weekends.
In May, we will come out to the garden, I will gather roses, and throw them in an old glass vase, and I will draw them. I will prepare a very rich flavored tea. Outdoor of course.
On a cold clear morning of late autumn, I will wear a thick sweater and coat and let's go for a walk in the Copse. The fallen leaves are still there, we can hear their rustling sound as we walk. I don't have a glove and put a cold hand into your pocket. The sun dyes a naked treetop in gold. My breath is white and, I am amused with no reason.
In summer, you may go out to the lake by boat, and may fish. But after you fish, I will release them.
On a cold rainy day, in shallow spring, let's stay in bed all day long. We can kisses, we can embrace each other, and sleep on, how precious will it be to still be together when we awake.
From the window, I see something white coming down. Snow absorbs the sound of the town. It is already Christmas, and the store on the first floor must be crowded with joyous couples, but it is very quiet here. Everybody left and I am alone in atelier, thinking about you.
In a few hours, we will be wrapped up in a blanket in front of a fireplace.
Until you will come pick me up, I will spend my time looking outside, absent-minded because if I go down right now, may miss you in the crowd.
So I think I will wait for my Santa Claus here.
