My mom used to ask why I bought books instead of going to the library to get books to read. I told her because I wanted to read them over and over again and having the books at home was more convenient. She still doesn't understand why I would re-read books over and over if I already know how it ends. I don't know how else I can explain it.
It was quiet. The river was still. Fireworks reflecting off of it's glassy surfacing. The light from sparks and moonlight allowing just enough light to write in the old leather journal. To stain the crinkled, yellow pages with black. There's no magic left in the world, so I've heard. They've just never looked in the right place.
I always wanted this on Saturday mornings . . . coffee, the paper, us . . . but some guys go to the gym no matter who they have with them . . . some guys can't give just one day a week for someone else . . . some guys give too much to other women and not enough to the one that matters . . . some guys may not deserve a Saturday like this with me . . .