I remember us, five years ago, in our shabby apartment in the heart of Camden. High (not on weed; "would you like some marijuana?" asked a stranger by the canal) on life. Tracy on a loop in the background by the red curtains from Argos. If they looked cheap, it's because they were. If I looked scared, it's because I was. Baby can I hold you?
I remember waking up on your chest halfway through Star Wars. How can a moment be both tiresome and beautiful at the same time? Like when you beat me at board games, or when you brush your teeth in every other room except for the bathroom. It's annoying, you're an idiot, but you smile and I surrender.
I remember, as a teenager, having a crush on Clark Kent; he was all I knew, so you had a lot to live up to. But Clark never made me laugh. You, on the other hand, have made it your life's mission. You taught me to live big in the little moments. Growing sunflowers. Jumping frantically up and down. Stepping in fox poo on your birthday. Surprise!
I remember, even though I'm forgetful. That Ferris wheel in Osaka. Holding onto your waist on a motorbike in the Philippines. You tell me it's a moped. I tell you a motorbike sounds sexier. You say I'm weird. I think we both are.I think I love you.
I remember years that haven't happened yet. You say another 99. I say that's way too optimistic, we'll see. In the meantime, I'm going to sit on the edge of our warmth, waiting for the future to roll up its sleeves.
I remember waking up on your chest halfway through Star Wars. How can a moment be both tiresome and beautiful at the same time? Like when you beat me at board games, or when you brush your teeth in every other room except for the bathroom. It's annoying, you're an idiot, but you smile and I surrender.
I remember, as a teenager, having a crush on Clark Kent; he was all I knew, so you had a lot to live up to. But Clark never made me laugh. You, on the other hand, have made it your life's mission. You taught me to live big in the little moments. Growing sunflowers. Jumping frantically up and down. Stepping in fox poo on your birthday. Surprise!
I remember, even though I'm forgetful. That Ferris wheel in Osaka. Holding onto your waist on a motorbike in the Philippines. You tell me it's a moped. I tell you a motorbike sounds sexier. You say I'm weird. I think we both are.
I remember years that haven't happened yet. You say another 99. I say that's way too optimistic, we'll see. In the meantime, I'm going to sit on the edge of our warmth, waiting for the future to roll up its sleeves.