Who We Can Be When We're Together

Together, we can be…
The couple who cooks in silence.
The ones who burn toast and laugh about it.
Late-night drivers with nowhere to go but everywhere to be.
Morning people with mismatched mugs and matching socks.
Kiss-on-the-shoulder-before-you-leave types.
Slow dancers in the kitchen.
The brunch regulars who always split the pancakes (double, more like).
Those Sunday lunch guests who never quite leave.
Two people pressed close under a coat in the rain.
Napping partners.
Secret keepers.
List makers.
List abandoners.
We can be gallery wanderers with opinions about brushstrokes.
We can sit in silence with books and feet tangled under the blanket.
Or whisper the filthiest things in a library and act like nothing happened.

We can be dog park regulars.
Your King Charles Cavalier running wild, me giving her more treats when you're not looking.
We can be explorers of shops in Borough market!
Road trip companions with the perfect playlist.
Lovers in hotel robes, too lazy to check out on time.
We can get away to nowhere in particular—just because.
We can drink overpriced cocktails with tongue-in-cheek names.
We can try every single dish on the menu “for research*.”
We can be that couple in the corner, with shared desserts and quiet eye contact.

We can be roleplayers in five-star sheets.
Nurse and patient.
CEO and intern.
Husband and the woman who isn’t his wife.
We can be total strangers meeting for the first time.
Or married, five years deep in an arrangement no one else understands.
We can be whoever you need me to be—until I take control.

We can be the full wife experience—
but smarter, sexier, and not subject to your in-laws.
We can do laundry together.
Be silent while the kettle boils.
Argue over takeaway choices and make up before the driver arrives.
Be something domestic, without the decay.

We can be more than dinner and a show—
We are the show.
You in a collar, under the table.
Me giving orders between sips of wine.
We can be the ones who don’t go home when the park closes.
Who get bold under a picnic blanket.
Who know better—but do it anyway.

We can be freaks behind closed doors.
Rope marks in the morning.
Safe words whispered like secrets.
A pedestal and the one kneeling at it.
We can build rituals, rites, rules.
I can own you in silence, with a glance.
We can be primal, polished, perverse.

We can be the fantasy you can’t forget.
We can be simple.
We can be complex.
We can be us, however that looks.

So…
Who can we be when we’re together?

Whoever. The hell. We want.

- No celery or beetroot.