the ground grows white
and we grow old.
watching life happen
from the windows
and making life happen
within these brick walls,
together.
we’ve made the beds
and set the table.
the rooms hum in stories,
piano music,
and baby song.
ready to weather
whatever may come
together.
life is made here.
in conversations that
jump generations.
in submitting to live
life at another’s speed.
we’re enjoying life
too much to notice
we’re growing old
together.
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