who used to be in that band

who has the pretty, pregnant girlfriend

except that i saw a baby picture in his wallet.

and i envy him, because they seem so happy, so carefree and light. and i know i'm making it all up, but he has a ceramic coffee cup at home and writes poetry while she makes vegetarian burritos and the baby gurgles on the floor. and at night they sleep in thin cotton, arms and legs entwined, warmth heartbeats breathing. in the morning, he might not even shower, and his hair sticks out at odd angles. they have school and work and like it. they have a volvo and potted plants and weird art. he gives her intense looks and poetic words and she makes him dessert.

i wish i could cut out pictures from magazines and spill spaghetti sauce with garlic on the floor and listen to wilco and then swirl it all together and shape it into the perfect life. i want to be part of one of those hippie-indie rock-intellectual couples that carry their babies around in slings and have shelves lined with books and eat tofu and drink chai and go on wild, relaxing road trips out in the country and are on activist email listservs.

and you know, i don't think people are really in control of their fate. or maybe their fate, but certainly not their lives. but i do think perfection has the potential to exist.