Love is Like Stepping on a Lego

Draw a Dream House

Somewhere hidden among quiet, rolling hills sits a house. The morning is cool and comfortable; the sun is just beginning to rise, and the sky is clear and blue. On the front of the house stands a red door, a cobblestone pathway leading to road, and flowers lining the walkway. The house has two main stories, with a single tower on the left corner, which stretches up to the height of a third floor. At the back of the house there is a small pool, rectangular in shape, with a couple of lawn chairs beside it. There is a garden directly behind the house, underneath the kitchen window. A variety of plants are growing: basil, tomatoes, eggplant, and some flowers which haven't yet bloomed. Inside the house there is a large living area to the right of the entrance, with big windows stretching from floor the ceiling. To the left is a kitchen with an island, two sinks, a dishwasher, and a fridge with a water filter. The fridge is magnetized. Several pictures are sitting on the fridge door, report cards and graded assignments (in English and Danish) tacked front and center. A shark bottle opener and a Star Trek enterprise magnet also sit on the fridge. Upstairs there are four bedrooms; three are regularly occupied, and one is a guest room. There are more than enough bathrooms around the house- one of them has a deep seated tub that lets you sink and fully submerge into the water. Then there is the tower. A sign hangs above the doorway, advising any who enter to abandon all home, accompanied with a fake tarantula from the Halloween decorations. Inside the room sits a variety of musical instruments. Sheet music scatters the room, and there are bookcases filled with workbooks, more sheet music, CDs, and records. A bass clarinet sits in the corner, with a sax leaning against it. This is what I whisper while gripping a large pair of hands tightly, squeezing every now and then to reassure myself that I am there, and he is here with me. Every word is a promise. The location of this house doesn't matter. The smaller details are insignificant. All that matters is that the house will someday be ours, with a room for each of us, a bed for each of us, and a key that will always work. Those three words don't truly need to be said, but I whisper them softly anyway: I love you.