So the story goes.

So the story goes,

the house hums: the heater.
steam rises: a cup of tea.
words float; melodies dance: a record plays.

So the story goes,

he types; i type: we're home.

Our Home grows.
my belly Grows.
rain keeps us inside and you stay inside, too.
and when the rain stops and the flowers bloom,
so, Here, You will be.

and then, 
I don't quite know how the story goes. 

the house will still hum just in a different way.
my tea will probably be cold by the time i get to drink it.
words will still float and melodies will be dancing. 

he'll type; i'll type; you'll be asleep.

maybe you'll fall in love with the sound of these keys, 
the way i have.
maybe you'll fall in love with the sound of the rain, the way he has.
maybe i'll hear you type one day and i'll watch as you create another world in our home.

And so the story goes.