Love Month, Day 25: Sing it, Otis

I am madly, crazily in love with Otis Redding. A few months after my love affair developed, I discovered he died in 1967 at the age of 26. Plane crash. 

I cried. 

Anyway. It's music like his that make me want to slow dance with someone. My husband better like Otis Redding, because we will be slow-dancing in the kitchen after dinner many a night. In that same kitchen, I want to teach my sons to slow dance. I want them to remember the smell of dish soap and my perfume when they dance with their daughters in their own kitchens.

(I have an overactive imagination.)

I want to hold on to these little things that are important to me. I want to remember to dance. I know my dreams will happen someday, in some shape. I just know in about 5 years I'm going to be slow dancing in a kitchen with the man of my dreams, and I'm going to cry. Because when my dreams come true, my heart right done explodes in my chest. 

These aren't big dreams, but most of my dreams aren't. My biggest dreams are wrapped up in tiny moments. I want to dance in the kitchen. I want to sing lullabies. I want the most simple and yet sublime life imaginable. I want barbecues in the summer and boisterous Christmas mornings. I want to cook my husband dinner every night, not because it's the woman's job but because I want to. I don't want stardom or wild success or a million friends. I just want a quiet little life in a quiet little town filled with quiet little moments that make me cry. I want to be happy with whatever comes my way.

I sincerely believe my dreams are going to come true. Because really, what other option is there other than wholeheartedly believing in your dreams?