Let's pretend we're older and qualified.Our house is quaint. Everything is soft pastel colors.
In the morning we pick clothes and before we go for cocktails we pick clothes.
Small trinkets and tea cups sit on gentle shelves and piles of old rustic books.
On sundays we sit in the one bed and read the papers, laugh and talk in the sweet morning light.
Before walking along to the pub for the usual.
When I cry at night I stumble into the room and you're there, and before long we're joined by the other one.
We lie in silence.
And I wake up.
Happy.
This keeps me going.
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