Written at 1:00 in the morning on a shiny laptop in a dark room. If you can guess where the title came from, you get a pat on the back. :D

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We sit down in the room of cream and chocolate, a rare golden moment of privacy. Hardwood floors, low lights and bulky, oversized sweaters. Cinnamon and painted fingernails.

"We're almost done, you know."

I do know. Autumn has crept upon us like a slow breeze that tousles your hair. The last autumn before freedom.

She can tell that I'm mixed up.

"Are you happy?"

"Of course I am." A gentle smile.

"You don't seem it."

I know I don't. "I'm just..."

I push my hair behind my ear.

"...Thoughtful."

I know that she understands. She smiles.

"It's just about waiting for your brain to sort things out and get prepared." I love when she knows.

I nod.

"If you could mold your life into whatever you wanted, how would you have it?" Gracefully taking my mind away from the subject.

I start to twist my hair around my finger. I want to make my words meaningful. I want to be able to take the pictures from my head and put them in hers. Giving her a dream.

"Realistically? I would have us in an apartment. You with your paintings, and me with my pictures and both of us with our music. We'd paint the walls and ceilings like the Sistine Chapel and a five-year-old's impression of an autumn leaf. You would create landscapes like in a dream and I would capture the rays of light wedged between doorways and the curve of a model's breast. We'd play into the night, performing for each other. Strings and keys and fast fingers. When the chords ended we would discard our clothes and find the bed with it's cool sheets soon to turn warm. Then, we'd both wake up in the morning when the sun broke through the glass panes and entered our eyes." I'm never realistic.

She smiles again and joins me on the couch, happiness expressed in each movement. And then we're together, comfort defined.

"Then that's what we'll do."

Happiness in each movement.