If I Could Write My Story

If I could write my story
One day I were walking down the state park
Or sitting in the mall
Or typing at my laptop in the local bookstore
A beautiful girl would pull up a chair next to me
Sit down, and say high.
I wouldn't know why.
I'd be shy at first
But she'd be persistent.
Then we'd strike up a conversation.
She'd find out quick I'm a writer
Ask to read some of what I wrote
And then she'd like it.
We'd spend the next month
With that obsessive kind of friendship
That comes with just meeting someone.
And soon, we'd fall in love.

About a year of being friends---
An eventful year, where we waited on each other
And were in the pre-relationship phase---
I'd put an engagement band on her finger.
A little gold ring with a small diamond.
We'd have a night of weakness
Where we would make love for the first time.
Soon afterward, we would get married.

We'd have kids,
And I would homeschool them.
Not for any religious reason
But only to spend as much time 
With them as possible.
She'd work from home on the computer
And I'd spend my time teaching my children.

My writing would be a mystery to my children
Something which they would be forbidden to read
Until they reach the appropriate age.
And sure enough, they would sneak into the room
And take the step ladder
To take the book from the highest shelf
And read it. I would scold them.

However, my books would sell a modest amount.
A small amount.
Maybe I would make thirty thousand dollars a year from my books.
I would then take the money and tithe it
And invest it in treasury bonds.
It would be a supplemental income
Which brought us comfort.
But, I wouldn't be famous.
Nor a household name.
Just a random stranger some people met
On the internet,
And they bought my books.

When I was old, and had grandchildren,
Then, when it couldn't corrupt me
My work would explode in popularity.
Just enough that I was old and gray
And my wife too,
And my children with children and their children on the way.
And my work would be praised as the greatest of the twenty-first century.
I would win Pulitzer, Nobel, Hugo, Poet Laureate.
In old age...
And I would be surprised by the sudden success.
But, not changed by it.
I would know how to use the money
And would be like Milton Hershey
Who invested it into the widows and orphans.
To which, I would pass away silently in my sleep
At an old age,
My wife also by my side.
And I will have lived the life I dreamt about.