I am ten years old
You do not yet exist
Except, somewhere, I suppose,
in a way, in a sense, in utero
But no girls exist, at this point, to this nerd
My hair is quite foolish
And I have no way with words
I am sixteen years old
And in love. So I think. So I hope
Not with you. You are five.
And 200 miles on the other side of the sea
I should stress that the “five years old” thing would have been a deal breaker anyway
But my love is not great at this point
I’m a fool
You’ve dodged quite the bullet
Oblivious, as you go to primary school
I am 26 years old
I’m trying to write songs
About love and desire
When it sparks, when it goes
And the bit in between that I can’t quite compose
The bit that I’m trying to find, I suppose
The words are OK, though they never quite rest
On the subject
Trying too hard to rhyme
Trying too hard to capture a moment of time
While you’re 15 and listening to Kylie Minogue
I am 34 years old
And one night you are there
In a pub, in my town,
In my life, in a chair
And you’re funny and quick
And I’m a little bit taken
By your smile and your eyes and your voice and your hair
And I know that I like you
As you instantly start taking the mick
I am 47 years old
And I’m cold, and I’m warm
And I’ve given up trying to find words for the stuff
That it means to be with you
For the love that goes on as we move, without fuss
Through this thing that no language can ever define
Though you’ll see I’m too stubborn to completely stop trying
I’m just happy I’m with you
It is great. It’s enough.
There’s only one word that we need.
And that’s “us.”
