Some days I just want to sit quietly and lose myself in a book, as I have been.
Some days I want to find a woman and make love to her tenderly, as I never did in my youth.
Some days I need to sit and talk and laugh and cry and share with an old friend, though they're gone or busy or both.
Some days I find are best spent investing in big pockets of sleep, often sought yet not often obtained, and I'm grateful when they are.
Some days I feel like walking in the city, a gentle hum of breeze between buildings, a roaring cacophony of traffic throughout the streets.
Some days I wish I was sitting on a pier, an intermittent wind rippling the water's surface, the mild rumble of waves surrounding me, brushing through my ears.
Some days I just want to be there when the boys laugh themselves silly while telling stories.
This day I only wish I could hold her hand in mine, use the other one to delicately rake through her hair, never losing her gaze, always in her eyes.
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