we sit together on the front porch. we bought the house a month ago, and you knew the one thing i wanted most in a house was a big, wrap around porch.

you wanted wooden floors.

we disagreed on the location; i wanted something far out in the country, you wanted close to the city.

we found one, just outside where the city started spacing apart and the big brand name stores stopped.

the yard was big enough for my imaginary kids to play ball and hide and seek.

and i saw the way you looked at the trees, thinking about those spring days we would have under them, picnics and fire flys.

but now, we're on the porch. the sun's going down, but there's enough light to see the edge of our yard.

you're laying out, your body across my chest, and i have my arm draped across your hips.

we hear a dog bark a few yards away.

"you've got your gutters to clean now," you say, because you know how much i've always wanted to have my own gutters to clean, how excited i got thinking about gutters.

you turn and look up at me.

you knew i wanted the gutters because it meant that i had a house. which meant i had a family. which meant i had you.

this, this is all i need, all i've wanted. our house, ours. us.

i look down at you, with your blue eyes and your pale skin, your almost red hair.

i'm still scared that you'll wise up and leave. i'm scared that you'll realize i'm a fool. that you can do better.

but you're here. and i have my gutters.

i feel your fingers slip into mine.