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Growing Old

I don’t want to grow old with you.

I want to grow with you.

I don’t want to see your wrinkled smile on a random August morning as it rains outside and we sit on our rocking chairs listening to old school music while reading a book.

I want to make you laugh all afternoon for every day of our life and predict where will you have wrinkles when you get old.

Probably at your forehead because you frown too much unnecessarily.

Probably a crows feet too because of the way your close your eyes a little too tightly when you laugh at my silly jokes and me of course.

I don’t want to grow old with you.

I want to grow with you.

As we live moments for the first time.

Like the first time we saw the sunset together.

The first time we stayed up all night talking, giggling, singing each other’s favourite songs, writing poetries and eating junk food until the sun rises up.

The first time we fall sick together and none of us knows what to do – to sleep or to take care of each other.

I don’t want to grow old with you.

I want to grow with you.

Even if it means growing out of love with you.

image from resplash


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