I want to watch the rain fall lightly. While I sing them to sleep with a clumsy voice. Combing their hair softly, brushing in the salt air like smoothing oceans of thought. I want them to make their coffee every morning, not for the taste, but for the chattering sound that harmonizes with the hum of an old fridge, the gentle alarm of presence. Holding their hands as we walk about. I want to point at everything I see. To ask and to know they felt something of everything, just as I do. An misspelt sign, a fuschia bottle brush and a odd tune we could not name but tried to. I want to stuff our pockets full of seaglass, pebbles and old pennies too. Grabbing anything palm sized, just because we can. I want to kiss their heads like a parent, and lean on them like child or pet in want of notice, just because I can. I want to live in the thousands of sleepy words we offer one another in our half awake dilerium of laughs and philosophies, debating what happens after death followed by naming animals and fruits from A-X as we find our way to sleep, drifting off before Z. I want to rest in these memories of love forever. I want rest by you forever. My friends.