El Día Perfecto

     "♪ I been goin' silly for the Westside (Westside) / You might catch me rollin' where the reps ride (real reps, real reps, real reps) / Ain't no opposition, I'm the best, right? (Yeah, yeah) / I might take my city on a test drive (test drive) / You don't wanna see me on a good day (oh no, oh no) / You don't wanna see me on a bad day (no, no, no, oh no) / I was just a nigga with some hoop dreams (hoop dreams) / Now, I'm in the league, bitch / Now, I'm in the lead, bitch ♪," your alarm goes. It's 10 a.m. You wake up in your two-story house where your room is decorated as the hippie oasis you've always dreamed of: colorful tapestries, giant amethyst crystals (for cleansing, protection, and inspiration, that is), a simple steel desk with a glass top where an Apple laptop sits, and your dog sleeping in his own bed on the floor because you finally mastered that trick. You're naked because fuck clothes, those smothering, colonial shits. You roll over and come face-to-face with the love of your life. They're open-mouthed snoring with their head titled up and you just smile in amazement that someone as important and unique could bless your presence like this. You go down on them for their alarm clock. And some more X-rated, freak shit continues from there, because you completely trust them and all your insecurities that have been socialized are stifled by low groans and whispers.

     Afterwards, you go in the kitchen where you see the most breathtaking sunrise of your life— that pink and orange and purple husky lighting hovering over the Colorado mountains. A lake rests at the bottom. You smile that coy smile and start cooking brunch for you and your lover. Probably pancakes (because they're your favorite and you project your likes onto others like a motherfucker), scrambled eggs with peppers & onion & spinach, and hash browns because carbs aren't really a concern to ya'll.  

    Then you go to your desk and finish the book you've been working on for, oh, 10 years. Your heart swells with pride and you get a little emotional because that's how your astrology sun sign works. From there, you and your shawty go on a hike not far from your place. Two miles in, two miles out. You bring your camera and take candid walking shots and fall trees and wiley squirrels. You share secrets and accomplishments and failures and laughs and joy.

     You go back to the house afterwards and shower. You have fancy reservations at a restaurant that serves the best fettuccine alfredo with shrimp on the planet. So you go outside to find a beautifully restored orange Volkswagen van. This is your transportation. Ya'll go out and have an amazing time. Conversations about aliens and hip hop and your pets and how happy you are that you both don't want kids because you understand that your own childhood wounds need to be healed before you bring delicate creatures into a world that's slowly deteriorating due to global warming, fascism, and an incorrigible wealth gap. 

     When you get home, you both immediately change into lounging clothes. You go to the balcony on the second floor. The stars are bright and alluring and mysterious. You snuggle on the wicker couch and in front of a fire. You pass a blunt back and forth, listening to a perfectly curated playlist on your iPod. You melt into your love and fall asleep on their chest.