Sometimes I get up early enough to watch him get ready for work. I watch him walk down these stairs. I lock the door behind him and look at our mess. I smile. It’s our place.
One night, I almost ran down these stairs and said goodbye forever. I am glad I didn’t.
A couple nights ago, I got a little tipsy and almost fell down the stairs. He unlocked the door and I couldn’t help but kiss him.
These are the stairs that lead up to our humble abode. It’s the place where we drink coffee in bed. Where we argue and come up with ideas. Where we day dream about Paris and work on scripts. These are the stairs I run up, eagerly, after school, hoping to find him home from work early. These are the stairs he walks up to get back into my arms. These are our stairs…