I want to be reading Tolstoy, one of the big, fat, leather ones, sitting by the fire in the Albemarle Library. Right. Now.

I want to be healthy. 

I want to stare at the tree, all lit up, in the dark living room, for hours, just like I used to.

I want to walk through the garden in the snow.

I want to sneak downstairs at 5 am.

I want to make everyone coffee.

I want to talk in the kitchen till 3 am.

I want to be warm.

I want to go ride hood till I can’t feel my legs.

I want to eat scalloped potatoes and roast.

I want to see tacky sweaters and decorative dishware.

I want candles in every window.

I want a stocking full of guitar picks, deodorant, toothpaste and floss.

I want wreaths, garlands, bows and little fucking bells EVERYWHERE.

I want to sleep in a proper bed.

I want brothers, brothers, brothers, all of em.

I want pictures in front of the mantle, bad ones.

I want Honey Baked Ham and Pecan Pie.

I want family room jam sessions.

I want non-stop competitive sibling video game action.

I want to be home.