I’m reading a book you would like. The Skeleton Key by Erin Kelly. There’s a picture book with a mystery and a long hidden treasure and some bones, but beyond that the narrator lives on a houseboat with her semi-adopted daughter and that part is right up your alley. You always wanted to live on a houseboat somewhere (England, let’s be real) or on a barge. You wanted to live so many places, so many lives. You wanted to live.
Even on the worst days you still wanted that. To experience things. A story, a sandwich. A new place. A caravan somewhere. Your current song on the radio.
These may not seem like reasons to go on but they were.
How will we know what happened next, you’d say? You wanted to know what happens next.
Maybe there’s a universe where we live on a boat together, dangling our bare feet into the water as the sunshine covers the deck. Too warm to drink tea just then, but later when the sun goes down and we’ve dried our feet and lit the lantern we’ll put the kettle on and talk about that stars that are just out of sight, other cats on our laps.