I expect you to tell me everything.
The really hard things that you think I’ll leave you for.
I expect the tiles will feel cool when I lay my cheek on them.
I expect the dog placed in my lap will eventually leave for no apparent reason.
I expect that there will be a day when I walk in the blizzard and not be able to see you in front of me.
I expect to cry.
I expect that eating will salve my wounds.
I expect the fresh cut grass will bring memories of my father.
I expect the door will open when I arrive without a key.
I expect the grapefruit to be tart. And the tart to be sweet.
I expect the ocean will always move towards me. But the pond will stay still.
I expect if I make you something, you will like me.
I expect that when I dress up in my red dress, you will help me into my grey coat and hold the brown door for me.
I expect that if I touch your fingers, you will hold my hand.
I expect I will see them in their car seats when I look in the rear view mirror.
I expect that each stair will hold my weight.
I expect that butter will soften. Bread will harden.
I expect that life holds expectations. But is better served without them.
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