I love the future- which only reveals itself one day at a time
An hour at a time
A minute

I love the past, but differently
Like the handprint in the sidewalk in front of my house
Full of memories, but permanent and unchangeable

I love lethargic Sundays
But not more than the feeling of satisfaction of a long day’s work

I love presumptions
assumptions
over hard evidence and proof.

I love making mistakes. What better a chance for improvement?
My guilty pleasure? Listening to others’ complaints… for what other time can you smile to yourself and think: “Haha, my life is better,” without feeling immense guilt?

I loved spreading rumors and telling stories…
I’ve traded this habit with others who should now know better.

I love canned laughter
But not as much as genuine

I love the way your eyes burn when the T.V. reflects on the tears in your eyes
After watching a tear-jerking movie

I love thick curtains that block out the sun in the morning
And sleeping in late- thinking it’s still dark out

I love the music before the lyrics begin
The overture to poetry