I'd still fall by Ivy

I’d still fall for him if I met him today. Still laugh at his jokes and touch his arms. Still wait for the lean in and close my eyes. Still feel my temperature rise when I look into his eyes. But we’re not young anymore. We forget flowers and roadtrips. We skip walks for rituals. We stay home more than we should. Yet, I know, there is no one who knows me more. Who’s inside my every thought, my every cell, my every tear. We’re in the forever part and forever is almost here. There’s no time to say I’m sorry and take out the trash. There’s no lightbulb more important than ice cream in bed. There’s no phone call that will make me let go of his hand. It’s getting slow. But please, not too slow yet. Let my laughter pierce my neighbors ears. Let tequila be the fountain of our youth. Let his hand stay warm in mine. Our dreams have changed. He’s saving dogs or me, never himself. Mine went from running from bad guys to sitting with old friends. Which one of us will go first. Volunteer to take that bullet. Maybe I should just go and save us some time. No, that’s not the answer. I have to be here to hold his face. Wipe his tears. Kiss his soft lips. We’ve left a dance behind on Maui for a different tomorrow. We’ve cut loose the familiar instead of Christmas mornings and champagne celebrations. We gave up star filled sky’s for rocking chairs and fireplaces. We promised to be in it together. To make each other coffee. To make love. To toast each others eyes. Our quiet reminds us that we’ve been together a long time. That time brought us here, to this moment. Where we pluck the strings of tunes gone by. Years of friends passing the shadows of our doorways. Of children running from parents projections. Of understanding the illusions of God and regret. Stealing kisses. Dancing with bad intentions. Drinking to pass out. Throwing money around like New Years confetti. People die. Friends and family. Too soon and not soon enough. Music blasted loud. Screaming curses into the phone. Howling at the moon. Temping aliens. Throwing away photos. Giving away coffee tables and guitars and books and CD’s and wine glasses and secrets and promises and heath and duty and pillows.