It looks different everyday. Well, not exactly. Better maybe
Waking up is the one thing I always look up to, because I wake up looking at my baby
Your face folded in it’s sleep-like paleness, I try to imagine your dreams
But you already know mine: to grow old with you.
One day, baby we’ll get old, and tell stories about love
And laugh and our children will have their children over with us
And we’ll tell them about med school and the stress
And I’ll give you a kiss, and we’ll hold hands down the stairs
And our grandkids will marvel at our love, and tweet about us
One day, my baby, we’ll be old. Just give me your trust
And though we don’t talk yet, though all these are just in my head
But I know we’ll one day fall in love and grow old
I see you walk the corridor of my class everyday and I smile at your ignorance
I’ll tell you how long it took me to say the first hi, how long it took to plan
So walk on, stroll the walkway and hold hands with that guy
No, I never get jealous because he’ll be jealous when we together on the same bed die
One day, my baby, we will grow. We’ll get old.

3 thoughts on “Together

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