Punctuation

Grow Old Together, Forever

I want to grow old together. 

Be there to experience the first follicle of your head of grey. 

And convince you that they're barely visible amidst the blond hair, anyways. 

I want you to be the man who appreciates my own grey hair most out of everyone,

and who smiles while he listens to me destroy a highly under-appreciated indie hit in the shower without knowing just how loudly I'm singing. 

Yours are the arms I want around my waist as my eyes flutter open, letting in the morning light,

just to roll over and cuddle up into your chest and breathe in the aroma of your completely unparticular scent. 

I want to listen to your enthused chuckle grow deeper, steadily over time. 

I want our love to never fade away as our capability to remember things might.

Like dancing in the light of the refrigerator to a song in our heads that we both ended up singing. 

Like respect and patience and confidence and faith. 

I want your timeless blue eyes on our future. 

And your heart of solid gold invested in everything beautiful we could create together.

I want to grow old together. Me and you. 

I'm in it for the grey hair and the fading memory and the deepening of your voice. I'm in it forever. 

Especially when forever means truly forever; when it means I won't have to watch your hair grow silver or when our medicines no longer sit on the window sill in our kitchen.

There's a forever out there just like that, and I can't imagine myself living in it with any one else, but you.