11:20 PM

Sometimes I think about us. I think about how we made all these promises to ourselves. I think about if you plan to keep them. I think about if I plan to keep them.  You told me that when you’re forty and I’m forty-two, we’ll get married. Sometimes I think about the future. You want to make music, I want to make words. I told you I could write from anywhere. What I meant was, I would follow you anywhere. And I would. Anywhere.

Sometimes I think about us. I think about how we’re stuck this way. “Attached,” you said. As if some invisible force is holding us together. “You should get a boyfriend,” you said. “Someone to treat you right.” “I don’t want a boyfriend,” I said. And then you kissed me. 

Sometimes I think about us. I think about how you deserve better than this. “You should get a girlfriend,” I said. “Someone to treat you right.” “Find me one then,” you said. “Find us both some twins.” You could love someone else so easily. You could love anyone. You could love a pretty girl, thin, with long hair and a wide smile. “What’s the point of dating?” I asked. “To have someone to talk to,” you said.

Sometimes I think about us. I think about how I’ll never stop loving you. I think about if you’ll ever stop loving me.