Bon Iver is ignoring me. I’ve pranced around in my fanciest dress, I’ve baked his favorite pineapple upside down cake, I’ve been singing our song at the top of my lungs — ‘You be my dust mop, I’ll be your best broom / I’ll be your whirlwind, you be my field,’ I yell. Still, I can’t seem to get his attention. ‘Bon Iver, Bon Iver, Bon Iver,’ I repeat until my voice is hoarse.
Finally, he looks up, as though he is hearing me for the first time. ‘Yes, beautiful?’ he says calmly. ‘I love you,’ I say. ‘I love you, too,’ he replies. ‘That’s all,’ I say, and I return to my chores.