You said you'd build me a house.
Can it be a pink Craftsman trap house? Wait-scratch that. I just looked up "trap house." I think I mean a pink house next door to that one.
Can we take care of everyone who visits? Can there be a rooftop lounge - wait put a high rail on that thing. You can go up at night and teach the happy stoned ones about stars, while I roam through the house swaddling the sleepy ones in soft blankets.
And can we take turns choosing the playlists? Different rooms need different vibes. Put a pin in that for now, all I know is that I want to take care of the ones that are stoned and earnest. Oh, that's all of them? I guess I've never been stoned, but I know all about earnest.
And then we tuck them in beds - or at least tight sleeping bags, so they don't roll off the roof. And we go to our own bed to sleep under a pile of sloppy dogs.
When everyone wakes, we make sausage and eggs and hydrate them with electrolyted coffee. And I will tell them about the years that, almost every night, I went to bed melancholy like them, but how in the morning, anything is possible.
Afterwards, you take them out in the sunshine and let them chop at the big tree stump, so they feel capable and accomplished.
Then I will dress them in soft sweaters knitted by the vegans next door, and they start the day with hope.
Because what I'm really saying is that somedays this world is the trap house, isn't it? And everyone gets weary. But every morning is a clean slate in the pink craftsman house.🖤