I awoke to rain, drips that crashed against the ground as my feet ghosted the paneled floor. As I set a record out to play.

A whisper of rain taps against the window pane, ghosting it with droplets that race down the wooden frame. The world quieted with muted tones--graceful grey skies, darkly dancing clouds, tranquil trees bending in the wind--the world is vulnerable when it rains.

The perfect day.

The hum of music pulling me from my place at the window inwards, a dimmed homely interior becomes my dance hall. 'I Only Have Eyes for You,' by the Flamingos spinning on the turntable, casting a curl onto my lips in the unmistakable shape of a smile.

'My love must be a kind of blind love.'

Blindly I followed the glint in your eyes, the passion you showed me so reluctantly at first has now spread to become my world.

"I can't see anyone but you."

You're my focus, the centerpiece of my universe, my muse, no one can hold a candle to the light you shine onto my life.

"I only have eyes for you."

I closed my eyes to the thumping of your heart, it is my lullabying metronome. The unearthly sensation of a heart beating in time with your own, for each other.

"But they all disappear from view."

I opened my eyes to the sight of your full, sweet lips. I can't seem to bring myself to picture a better view, it's unfathomable that anything could be as beautiful as you.

"And I only have eyes for you."

I sway slowly to wither away the aches throughout my body as my bare feet shuffle against the wooden floor to pull the kitchen fridge open, the light illuminating how empty it is. It's either fully stocked with leftovers from take-out or completely void of anything.

"Tiff's it is," I grumble out as I close the icebox's door.

I reach into the wooden cabinet to pull down the grounds, their robust scent filling the air. The pot is filled and the grounds are poured, coffee will soon follow. He'd like waking up to coffee.

I swirl around the table as the caffeinated solution drips into the pot, the warmed smell swirls into my nose and its sound mirroring the precipitation outside.

My arms are casted with goosebumps as I pull a discarded button up from the floor onto my stripped skin. I gingerly skip across the floorboards as the tune fades out. I cast myself down onto the bed and am met with a low groan and two strong arms pulling me against a built chest. A comforter is thrown over the both of us as the rain trickles against the window and pelts the roof.

The telephone rings and I reach out to lift it from the hook. I hold it up to my ear, "Phoebe Mae speaking." A soft nibble on my ear makes me hiccup when I speak, I swat at the side of his head and a playful whine erupts from him.

My eyes pulled apart slowly at the sound of shuffling and song, she always seemed to be dancing in the kitchen. Her nimble body skipping around the kitchen in search of a breakfast she'll never find in that emptied fridge. The rain pelting down against the window pane to blur the outside world.

'Tiff's it is,' I hear her quiet whisper mutter out.

The rich scent of caffeine wafting around her swaying figure as she mumbles out the words that the vinyl has poured out upon her request. She spins and sways her hips to the melodic music. I hear the clanging of mugs hitting the counter, I've always liked waking up to coffee.

Her porcelain skin bare of anything, the dim light shining through the window to shine a spotlight on her perfect body. God she's beautiful, I've never seen someone make living seem so enchantingly elegant. Everything she does is done with an unmatched grace, her heavenly shape met with her brilliant mind leaves me in awe.

She twirls to tug on a button up of mine that was discarded on the ground the night before, wrapping it around her torso to hide her shivering skin. Her quiet steps speed up in pace as she nears the foot of our bed. She jumps up into the air and falls into my body as she hits the bed. A groan leaves my chest from the impact as I tug her into me, enveloping her waist and digging the tips of my fingers into the plush of her hips.

Her soft giggles swirl my insides and leave a flutter in my chest, I press soft kisses to the revealed skin on her shoulder that's been abandoned by the fallen shirt. I toss the top duvet cover over the both of us and begin nibbling at her neck which elicit hitched breaths from her perfectly pink lips.

The telephone rings to which she sits up and removes it from the receiver, my hands grasping at any available skin I can find. She swats away my advances as she listens intently to the caller.

I tug at her waist and wrap my hands around her thighs in an attempt to bring her closer to me but instead she moves the bed's edge and begins twisting the cord between her fingers nervously.

"Sunshine, what's going on?" I mutter out with a groggy voice as I move to sit at the edge of the bed.

Suddenly the recognition of the recurrence, the deja vu of it all, this is a dream and it will end poorly. I can't help but pinch the skin on my wrist to be sure and sure enough it stings enough to tell its truth, I'm not in the unburdened visions of unconsciousness, I am awake and aware.

"Oh, sure thing," her voice is sweet with tiredness and slick with compassion, "Teddy, I'll be right over." I crane my head to the side in inquisition but am met with a waved hand a single finger held up to halt my questioning. "Buh-bye, Ted. I love you. Bye."

I love you.

Thump, thump, ta-

My heart regains its composure from its temporary discardment of its regular rhythm. I blink away the uneasiness slapped across my features, the lovesickness of my heart. She turns back to lay next to me, engulfing my solemn sodden face in her hands and presses a sickeningly saccharine kiss to my lips. "Teddy needs me to watch Eddie, her shits starts in about an hour and no one else can watch him. I wish I could stay but I've got to go." Her voice trails off to silence before her expression brightens with a smile so wide it closes her eyes, "Say, why don't you come with me, Sunshine."

My lips pull to one side as I contemplate the events I'd endure. A nearly seven month old baby crawling around with drool dripping from its slack jaw and cries so ear piercing it sends you running for the hills. Almost intolerable, especially when navigation experience is so minimal and inadequate. Almost tolerable, especially with rays of Sunshine so brilliant and blazing. "I don't know, maybe it'd be better if-"

A battle field so scattered with debris and destruction, trenches unbearably barren. Peeking over and holding my weapon by my side, I peer over at the enemy. An enemy with amber waves dusted with the dull shine of shadowed sunlight, eyes verdant but sleeplusted but her beauty is ten fold, freckles scattered like stardust across the porcelain sculpture of her figure, and her smile. Her smile most of all, one that shines so bright as to strengthen the flora and beautify the fonna, one so strong that it sends battalions upon battalions waving their white flags. Would I dare raise a weapon to such a dangerously harmless sight?

Her features pucker into a theatrical pout--jutted lip, doe eyes, the occasional sniffle. "Pretty please," she pleads, a smirk souring her serious expression, "With cherries on top."

My white flag is immediately raised. My diplomats sent to negotiate a treaty of peace. My weapons dropped and guard let down. She immediately has me falling to my knees in her exuberantly unorthodox character.

Superficially, I know her--her name is Phoebe, she eats pancakes without batting a lash, she thieves french fries than grin, she works half-heartedly even though writing is truly her passion, her weapon of disinterest is disarmed with a passage or the right person, she is kind but guards her heart fiercely. Truly, I know her--she guards her heart fiercely, her disinterest is her sharpest sword, her passions are kept close to her chest, her past her biggest secret, her name is Phoebe but now I know who she is.

Her attention once scattered, staring off to imagine worlds of fantastical bubblegum plushness and shores with sugar granules for sand, water crests the flavor of buttercream frosting, fondant flora, and a littering of coconuts. Her attention now harnessed, staring into my eyes to imagine worlds of vérité and bookstores with yellowed pages resting on shelves, record stores with aging records in aisles, greasily endearing dinners with pancakes and grilled cheese, and dreams hidden away in leather bound journals to be unleashed for the world to see once they're fully grown and steady on their feet.

Feet so steady that they may waltz on the rickety wood of a faithful boat. A singular boat tied by a threading rope to a lonely dock. Legs so strong that they do not remain crossed on the deck as they stare out at the harsh waves that could lead them to a land of Sunshine.Barrels stocked with glass jars that hold shouted secrets of desire and whispered whimpers of prospection.

For these dreams are steadfast and true--genuine sailors of seas of tribulation that relax into bays of beautiful and bountiful success.

These sailors, these dreams, they gush admittances of adoration as they pulls the sails and the wind whips against them fruitfully. Their calloused hands untie the intricate knot that holds the ship to the wooden harbor. They step below the top deck to their inventory of empty jars, scanning the shelves upon shelves of blown glass to find a suitable fixture to divulge in. their labored palms unscrew the top of their successor as they takes in salty sucks of air to fuel their proclamations. The scream that shreds their vocal cords and strains their lungs is expelled into the jar's opening, the sound reverberating off the plane of the jar before the lid gripped tightly in their hand is screwed back on to prevent any succulent detail from spilling into the wind where napping ears could hear.

They ascend to the ship's deck, jar in towe. They do not contemplate burying it deep down in the barrels of other temporary tribulations and confidently conclude that it will rest with them at the helm of the ship as their first mate. It's delicately placed at the base of the wheel as they saunter to the barrel of discarded half-developed desires. They grip the lid of the jar that rests atop their collection, their latest discarded desire, one so closely resembling their first mate it would take a magnifying glass of great measure to find the distinctions between them. The lid is unscrewed as they allow the shrieks of yearning to fuel their sails, sending their ship away from the dock and onto the rough ocean's current. They are now hopelessly navigating the seas of insecurity to find lands of lush lawns and sickly sweets and superbly sparkling Sunshine.

But they are not fearful--for they are genuine sailors and are confident in their skills and vulnerable only in their willingness.

The sailor hears a sweet siren song that travels amongst the gusts of winds to whittle its way into their unsuspecting ear, it calls to them, cries to them, pleads to them to follow it. Its pitch and tone so beautiful they'd be a fool to ignore it, they turn their ship off it's wayward path of insignificance to be led by the guidance of their muse. Her voice the sound of shooting stars and her lips the shape of loving hearts, they imagine her to be exactly what they've been searching for, their usher to paradise.

We are simply sirens, calling out to the sailor, begging to be sought after. Pleads of mine travel amongst great gusts of winds across the sea to whittle their way into their unsuspecting ear, pleads to be loved and privileged with their significance. A pitch and tone barely perceivable, its message cannot be discerned but nonetheless entices. The crashing of waves changes against the current with a change in course, a ship falling from its wayward path in the hopes to be met with a muse. Our voices spread the vastness of a shooting star as our lips form the shape of loving hearts, we imagine the sailor being ushers to paradise.

Our bodies having weathered storms unimaginable, we rest upon a rock as we beckon the sailor closer. Closer and closer they come, to a mirage of a beach with sugar granules for sand, water crests the flavor of buttercream frosting, fondant flora, and a littering of coconuts. The illusion is not one of malice but rather one of expectation--for their anticipated paradise differs from the reality of the sanctuary they may find to be all the more rewarding.

Although not as aesthetically pleasing, a beach that has weathered tropical storms is one that demonstrates strength. The spinning of hurricanes cannot deplete it of its beauty. Spinning, spinning, spinning.

And so they blink away mirages when the splash that releases the sounds of siren song that they've been craving finally occurs.

Splashes of Sunshine.

They follow closely behind the siren as she expertly swims to deliver them to their home. A beautifully tragic place--success. Something so sought after but once achieved leaves yearning behind. But to be successful and continuous is better than to have failed and stagnant.

These dreams are so steadfast that the rough sands and high tides do not deter them. These dreams are so strong that the weakened flora and slim fanna do not dissuade them. They merely press on to build a sanctuary of their own that beats expectations readily.

And so in the trenches of these fearsome beaches I wave my white flag without another thought. For her beautiful soul is surely the sanctuary that my own needed for its sailors to follow that skilled siren to deliver them to achievement.

I simply needed the warm bright love of the Sunshine to allow me to follow my dreams wholeheartedly.

Her heart has come to know me and so I am courageous. She knows me, superficially--My name is Harry, I eat grilled cheese with ketchup, I scarf down pancakes without blinking, I work half-heartedly even though music is truly my passion, my cover of indifference is quickly shed with a tune or the right person, I believe myself to be kind but guard my heart fiercely. She knows me, truly--I guard my heart fiercely, my indifference is my strongest armor, my passions are hidden deep within my chest, my past my biggest secret, my name is Harry and she knows who I am.

And so now I can authentically grind out the kinks in myself to discover a well-polished, well-achieved masterpiece.

I follow her around aimlessly with a thumping love muscle that begs to shout out to her the reflected words of its rhythm. I, thump. Love, thump. You, Phoebe, ta-thump. I throw on articles of clothing as I watch her fiddle with her dress until it lays perfectly on her star speckled skin.

I wander steadily next to her down each road until we reach the home that was once the matchbox of my harborings. Placing a single match for safe keeping only for it to be dowsed and somehow reignited. The simmering spindle of my burning desire for her was held here until it boiled over into my own home and she fell into my bed.

It boiled over in my own heart, it flooded my chest and thawed my stagnant muscles and I fell into a love I knew not possible.

And so now I stand in her living room as her sister gives seemingly unimportant instruction as my muse nods along and reassures her she can handle it. I surely was acknowledged but my only response was a single nod and a half hearted smile before the surroundings blurred back and her beauty took the foreground once again.

Her sister rushes out the door as my love holds her nephew in her arms, a kiss blown on the way out is the final goodbye that leaves Phoebe, her nephew, and myself alone.

I shouldn't have surrendered, I don't know what I'm doing.

Before I know it, the infant is being placed in my arms as Phoebe disappears into the kitchen. I hold him out with straight arms to keep him away from my chest, I'm so unsure of how to go about this. I feel extremely uncomfortable--this thing, child, rather, is something I'm so foreign to, I grew up alone without any siblings or cousins.

Eddie's face scrunches up in what I can only assume to be disapproval and the beginnings of a tantrum. He throws his head back and an ear piercing scream sounds and I can't help the groan I let out. It's not that I dislike babies, I just have no clue what to do with them.

"Ph-Phoebe!" I shout out to her for help, I can't do this alone, I need her.

She turns the corner and pokes her head out with a worried look on her face but as soon as she realizes what is going on, she bursts into side-splitting laughter. Her arms wrap around her torso as she bends over and snorts fly from her nose at a rapid rate.

Her cackles slow just enough to allow her to speak through her stifled snickers, "You can't hold him like that," a snort breaks apart her statement, "Here, let me help you."

She steps over to me and takes Eddie in her grasp, she places one arm across his back as she rests him on her hip, as soon as he's settled in her hold his cries stop. "See, you've just got to hold him, like, well, like a normal person."

I huff out a breath in frustration and nod. She then returns him to me and I do as she said, resting him on my hip and wrapping my arm around his back. He settles his head to rest onto my shoulder with a smile. I flash him an uneasy, close lipped smile and he nuzzles his head farther into my chest in response.

Maybe this isn't so bad.

. . .

The rest of the day was a mirage of what the future I hope to have will hold. Phoebe taught me how to take care of Eddie and we spent the whole day watching silly children's cartoons and playing music on the record player. Teddy eventually came home and I couldn't help but feel a pang of pain in my chest at the idea of having to leave this little daydream behind.

This is what I want with her, it would be so simple, so easy. I didn't think I could want that, a family, with anyone. But people change, and I'd gratefully change for her.