I get paid to disturb the peace

I want you to sit on a dusty sidewalk with me, against a brick building and not worry about what else could be on that sidewalk. I want you to make fun of the suits and the boots that walk in and out of Starbucks but always know when it's time to put away the snide remarks and get me a grande caramel macchiato. I want you to act like you hate dusting the snow off my car, because you probably do. I want to feel your five o'clock shadow in an actual shadow at five o'clock. I want the shoes you wear to tell me where you've been. I want you to not need words but to use them anyway. I want you to teach me how to do something new... anything new. I want you to want to save the world.

I don't care what God you believe in as long as your faith is the kind that makes booties that don't stop look lazy. I don't care where you come from as long as you have found beauty in every place since then and, therefore, that place, too. I don't care who's on your friends list as long as I can be, too. I don't care how much you sleep as long as you know how to rest. I don't care what you eat as long as I can try to make it best.

I haven't been in the dark for too long. I miss it. I need it. I want you to learn to appreciate the dark with me. To appreciate the silence. To appreciate the stillness. That moment when 2:03 a.m. is softly becoming 2:04, and you're certain that most things have forgotten they're even still alive... that's where your learning begins.