How I Hope It Happens

When it comes, if it comes, the twelfth time I put my car keys in the freezer, leave the house wearing a towel on my head, wonder what rain is made of, I hope it will be my daughter who tells me I have lost my mind, that I am ‘off’ in a new way, a pathological way, not the usual, and I hope she tells me while we are laughing so hard that we can barely breathe, and that after she tells me we link arms and go have coffee someplace with a view of the ocean.

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Photo by Lesli Whitecotton on Unsplash