one hundred sixty-two

Let’s grow old together.

But wait. I don’t mean in the sense of simply growing old at the same time. I mean, let’s grow old together. Let’s enter each day of the rest of our lives together, and well, the old part, come what may. But whatever may come, let’s do this together.

I saw a couple in line together yesterday. They were together, that’s for sure. They were hand in hand and cheek to cheek. Even lip to lip as they waited. At first, I laughed at how uncomfortable they were making the senior just behind them. I think she was even blushing! But then it hit me—that used to be us. Maybe not so overtly physical in checkout lines and movie seats—but certainly physical, together. I want to be close to you again, in that same way, closer even.

I found an old letter yesterday. It was between the “file this” tray and the cabinet top. At first, as I read it, I felt like the senior in the checkout line, blushing at the sight of the uninhibited words penned on the pages. But then it hit me—that used to be us. Not “used to be” like the yearning for something lost, something almost forgotten, but the yearning for something that is familiar, a hands’ length away. A thing that is continually fragile, needing us both, but strong enough to hold us up when we can’t sustain each other or ourselves. I want more love letters. I want more of you. I want more of us.

Let’s grow old together, but before we do, let’s grow young now. Let’s enter each day of the rest of our lives hungry for each other like never before. Closer even than ever before. Kiss me all over without restraint, and I will reach for you. Write me endless love letters, and I will write you. Grow with me, and I will grow with you.


Written by L. B. on December 21, 2011