Music to go along with this story: Staralfur by Sigur Ros.
Music played in the background as she was stretched out on the couch, resting her head on his lap and her feet on the arm of the old, beaten up couch. He played with her short, brown hair, and she smiled.
“I love how content we can be, just sitting here.” He nodded agreement. She continued. “Do you think we’ll be poor forever?”
“Poor but happy,” he said with a smile as she sat up and he put his arm around her, drawing her closing.
“That sounds nice,” she said, allowing herself to be pulled in.
“Starving artists, and all. But if you want we could totally get nine-to-five jobs. But…”
“We’d miss out on moments like this. If we worked normal jobs, we’d both just be getting home.”
“Complaining about work.”
“Worrying about dinner.”
“Fighting over who has to do the dishes.”
“That’s just not us.”
They both paused, thinking about this alternate world.
“You know, we end up with so many…”
“Responsibilities?” he finished. She smiled at this and nodded, placing her head on his shoulder.
“You know, there’s only one way to ever be free of them, ever again.”
“Exactly. And that would put the burden onto someone else, our parents, most likely. Seems unfair. But that’s our only possible escape, from here on out.”
She looked up and played with his hair in the back a little, pulling on it to make him smile.
“Insane is the idea of giving all this up,” she said. He nodded and picked up a nearby notebook.